Hands of a Healer
by Kesera
Summary: Movie-verse with G1 leanings. Ratchet discovers a paramedic injured in a Decepticon attack. Can he help her recover and can she help him learn to live again? Eventual RatchetXOC.
1. First Meeting

**Hands of a Healer**

By Kesera

Movie-verse with G1 leanings.

Summary: Ratchet discovers a paramedic injured in a Decepticon attack. Can he help her recover and can she help him learn to live again?

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of the cannon characters. They belong to Hasbro, etc., but one can always wish for a sentient vehicle. I do own Rachel O'Bryan, the non-cannon characters and the plot.

Many thanks go to my wonderful beta, Lament of Meow, not only for looking over and correcting my grammar, punctuation and spelling, but also for her encouragement. Further thanks go to Phoenix13 ("Scent of the Future"), Litahatchee ("Night Fire"), Lady Tecuma ("Sparks and Plasma") and Karategal ("Youngling") for their inspirational stories and for permission to use some of the ideas they originated later on in this story.

Rating: T-PG13 (may go up, may not)

"blah" conversation in English

"**blah"** comm. conversation

_:blah: _conversation in Cybertronian

And now that that is all out of the way, please enjoy…

**Edit: I decided to make a few minor changes to this chapter after thinking about a couple of medical points GreendEATHpop made. Thank you. I'm not a medic or an EMT, so I appreciate the input of someone who was. It just took me a little while to figure out how to make some of the changes with the least amount of alterations to the story.**

* * *

Chapter 1 First Meeting

"You were right Rachel. This was the quicker way out." The male voice woke Ratchet out of a light recharge.

"Yeah, but we still need to get him down the hill, preferably before it starts raining again." Replied a higher, female voice. As Ratchet came fully back online he focus his scanners toward the voices. He had pulled into the trailhead turnout at dusk after exploring the mountainous region west of the new base. It was now full dark and he had not expected any hikers.

He could just make out through the scrub trees and under-brush, two figures coming down the trail around the imposing trunk of one of the giant trees of the area. It helped that both the male and female wore bright orange coats emblazoned with bold white letters spelling out search and rescue. They carried an injured and unconscious third male on a stretcher slug between them using an arrangement that distributed the patient's weight between the shoulders of the two rescue workers but left their hands free. Ratchet's scans revealed a fractured femur in the injured male's right leg, crush trauma to his torso and internal bleeding. As the rescue team emerged into the parking area their head lamps revealed his reflective yellow-green vehicle form.

"Buddy, this is your lucky day!" Exclaimed the male. "Here's your ride down the hill."

"What?" exclaimed the younger female. "Was there another team sent in from this side?"

"The heck if I know. If there was you would have thought we would have met them on the trail."

"Let's set him down here," the female ordered, clearly the one in charge. The pair carefully set the injured man down on a nearby picnic table. "See if it's unlocked," the female directed her co-worker, nodding toward the nearby vehicle as she began to checked over her patient.

As the male approached, Ratchet unlocked the back doors to his alt mode and allowed the man to open them. "It's open Rach."

"Good, his pressure is falling, we need to get him down the hill fast, Frank," she said removing her stethoscope from her ears and draping it around her neck. She left the pressure cuff on the patient's left arm. She would need it later.

"Key's are in the ambulance." Frank reported after opening the cab door.

"He doesn't have time to wait for the other team. We need to go, now," Rachel commented after looking back up the trail.

"Then let's get him loaded. We'll leave a note for the other team and I'll let Maude know they will need a pick-up."

Together the two loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Rachel climbed in also and proceeded to strap the patient in for the ride. She carefully examined the IV line she a previously placed in the patient's right arm, then hung the bag on a convenient hook. As she dug through the cabinets for an additional blanket, she heard Frank climb into the cab and open the door between the patient area and the cab of the ambulance.

"Ready?"

"Yes, head straight for Mercy General. Contact the trauma center and let them know we're inbound."

XX—XX

Rachel leaned against the back of the Hummer as she waited for Frank to come back out of the hospital. She was exhausted. It had been a long day, a long week for that matter, culminating in today's extraction. The dreams she'd been having the last couple of weeks had not allowed her much sleep either.

She looked up when she heard the hiss of the emergency room doors as Frank walked back out into the parking lot. "He'll make it." Rachel nodded in acknowledgment. It always felt good to know you made a difference in someone's life. "Bryan and the others got the other two men out via the Chantel trail." He added as he approached her. "No one's come looking for the ambulance. Maude said our team was the only one dispatched. Maybe it belongs to a contract independent getting in some rec time before the start of fire season."

"Maybe." Was her tired comment. It was possible. Wildland fire teams often had medic teams with them. She'd noticed that the ambulance had lacked some rather critical normal supplies, most notably a defibrillator, but they may not have completely restocked if they were just out for some fun. However, she would not have left the ambulance unlocked on a back road.

"In any case, Maude has your number. She said she would handle it then she'll send whoever may come looking your way."

"Thanks Frank." She replied with a sigh.

Frank placed a hand on her shoulder, "Get some sleep girl. You're no good to anyone as you are. Tomorrow is soon enough to worry."

A small chuckle escaped Rachel. "Yes, mother." She quipped back at the older man as she patted the hand on her shoulder. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before picking up his gear and turning to walk toward the cross walk. She turned and climbed into the cab of the borrowed ambulance. Frank waved back as he crossed the street heading toward his apartment a few blocks away. "Well, looks like you are coming home with me tonight," she commented to the dash as she ran a hand over the wheel. A symbol in the center caught her eye and she ran a light finger over it. She shook herself as she started to zone out. "Wake up Rach, you still have few more miles to go." She turned the key and the engine started with a gentle purr.

XX--XX

The morning sun was peaking over the trees and Ratchet basked in the warmth as he sat in Rachel's driveway. It was a welcome change from the previous day's rain. He'd seen to it that the exhausted woman had reached her home safely. After contacting Optimus Prime to appraise him of the situation, it had been decided that he should stay with the rescue worker for a day or two before one of their human allies would come "claim" him. It was essential to maintain their low profile and it would not help to have Ratchet reported as stolen if he just drove off.

A jogger dressed in navy blue shorts and t-shirt with "Fire Dept" stenciled across the back came down the empty street. He slowed and paused noticing the chartreuse Hummer. Ratchet kept on optic on him as the man walked up beside him looking over his vehicle form. He paused by the driver's door to look up at the windows of the house. "I hope whoever you belong to is treating her right." The man said. "She needs someone." Leaving Ratchet to ponder those remarks the man turned and continued his morning run.

About an hour later, the garage door opened revealing Rachel dressed in jean cutoff shorts, a teal sleeveless top, and sandals. She appraisingly eyed the Hummer in front of her. "Well, let's get you cleaned up. I'm not returning you in this state. If I hadn't been so tired I would have done this last night." The vehicle was covered in mud. She had hated to leave the ambulance in that sorry condition the night before. Emergency vehicles were always cleaned upon return to the station in preparation for the next call out. What patient would trust the medic that showed up to help them in a filthy vehicle?

Ratchet realized that the woman intended to wash him. He was not opposed to this idea. He wanted to get clean. The dried mud was itchy. Ratchet studied her more closely as she puttered in the garage. She was fair skinned, with deep green eyes and wavy, reddish-brown hair that was cut in a short, no-nonsense simple style. He believed she could be considered quite attractive by human standards, but she was not a model-type beauty like Mikaela. She had more muscle mass and the trim, lithe figure of an athlete.

Rachel returned from the far end of the garage with two buckets, one filled with soapy water and the other filled with various supplies. She set these down in front of the Hummer and walked over to retrieve a garden hose from the side of the house. She then went back into the garage and took a step ladder down off the wall and positioned it beside the Hummer.

Taking up the hose she sprayed the vehicle down, rinsing off the worst of the mud. Then pulling a wash mitt from the supply bucket and dunking it in the soapy water she started on the front of the Hummer. Ratchet was pleasantly surprised at the warm soap and relaxed into the washing. Rachel found the latches that released the front brush guard, tilting it forward to allow better access to clean the front grill and hood. She continued along the passenger side, pausing at the door. The same symbol that adored the steering wheel was also centered in the shield on the door. She mentally shrugged. It must be the logo for the independent who owned the ambulance. She continued washing down the passenger side, paying particular attention to getting the grit and mud out of the wheel wells with the help of a brush and elbow grease.

Ratchet held back the contented purr he could feel building in his engine. This felt so good. She seemed to know all the right places to apply just a little more pressure. She even made sure to get the grit out of his door jams. He watched her climb up the ladder and almost groaned as she began stroking the wash mitt over his cab roof. He was sure that the sudden rumble of his engine would startle her right off the ladder, and clamped down on the urge. He felt her remove the shovel, fire axe and high-lift jack attached to his roof and lay them aside. She continued washing around the back of his alt form and up the driver's side. Once she had hosed off the last of the soap, she toweled him dry. She then cleaned the fire axe, jack and shovel, returned them to his roof, and closed and locked the brush guard back in place.

After dumping out the soap bucket and coiling the hose back away, she came back with a soft hand broom and dust pan and cleaned up the small pebbles, dried mud and forest debris that had been tracked onto his floor boards. That done, she returned to her supply bucket and retrieved a spray bottle and a soft rag. Climbing into the rear of the Hummer she proceeded to wipe down every surface in the "patient" area of the ambulance with the mild disinfectant. Ratchet greatly appreciated her thoroughness.

She returned once again to her bucket of supplies and came up with a bottle of leather cleaner and another clean rag. With these in hand she climbed into his cab. This time Ratchet couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through his frame as she wiped down his dash and seats.

Rachel paused in her cleaning of the cab at the slight shake she had felt. Earthquake? Mild one, but strong enough to rock the vehicle, and not unusual for the area. She climbed back out of the cab and proceeded to put away her cleaning supplies. She looked back over her work on the Hummer. Much better she thought and stretched, reaching her hands over her head, then hissed at a sudden pain in her side.

Ratchet heard her soft hiss of pain and watched as she pulled up her shirt, revealing a large, roughly oval scar covering her left side, from her hip to just below her bra line. Focusing his medical scanners he could tell that the wound was a recently healed burn, nine, maybe ten months old at most. But what really got his attention was the faint energy traces that could have only come from a Cybertronian weapon. How had this woman gotten such a wound? It was too old to have been from Mission City. As he did a more complete scan he saw traces of multiple lacerations, contusions and a healing fracture in her left forearm all about the same age as the burn. Somewhere, this woman had an encounter with another Cybertronian, and it was not a pleasant one.


	2. Discoveries

Thanks to all of those who read and reviewed the first chapter. I am glad you all found this story interesting and worth reading. Many thanks go to my wonderful beta, Lament of Meow for looking over and correcting my grammar, punctuation and spelling, and also for her encouragement and inspiration. Further thanks go to Phoenix13 ("Scent of the Future"), Litahatchee ("Night Fire"), Lady Tecuma ("Sparks and Plasma") and Karategal ("Youngling") for permission to use some of the ideas they originated later on.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of the other cannon characters. They belong to Hasbro, IDW, Michael Bay, etc. I do own Rachel O'Bryan, the non-cannon characters and the plot.

"blah" conversation in English

"**blah"** comm. conversation

_:blah:_conversation in Cybertronian

And without further ado, here is chapter two…

* * *

Chapter 2 Discoveries

The American government had graciously given the Autobots a base to operate from after the battle at Mission City in appreciation for their aid in countering the threat the Decepticons represented. Optimus Prime knew it was also a subtle means of keeping tabs on the new residents of this world. All the surveillance devices had been located and removed soon after the Autobots had taken up residence and so far no attempts to install more had occurred.

Located at a remote, unused edge of a weapons testing range in California called China Lake, the base came with an air strip, a human sized barracks building, and a pair of very large hangers. Researching on the web, he had learned that the hangers were once used to house blimps, a type of slow and cumbersome aircraft no longer used by the US military. However, these obsolete hangers were ideal for their needs. The huge, arching clear span structures could easily accommodate even his size with room to spare. At nearly 140 feet tall, 300 feet wide and 800 feet long there was plenty of room to construct facilities proportioned to mech size without any outward evidence to give them away. Reinforcing the structures had been simple and construction was well under way in the first hanger with the medical bay, command center, and several sets of quarters complete. An area at the front of the hanger had been left relatively free as a rally area with a partially partitioned space used as a social gathering area for both the mech and human inhabitant of the base. At the rear, wash racks were under construction and a second level was being added down the center of the hanger where there was adequate height. The second hanger was still pretty much a blank slate except for crude laboratory and workroom facilities.

A couple of miles away from the hangers and up a blind canyon, Ironhide had put together a weapons range. He could often be found there along with several of the recently promoted _Major_William Lennox's Rangers, blasting away at mock Decepticons. The Rangers, as the only US military unit with experience fighting Decepticons, were also residences of the base. Optimus had only agreed to their presence if it was acknowledged that he was in overall command of all personnel, human and mech.

Glen Whitmann and Maggie Madsen, the hacker and signals analyst that had detected the Decepticon infiltrations of the US military computer network, split their time between the base and the Pentagon, searching for any more attempted intrusions. Optimus knew it was only a mater of time before the Decepticons reappeared. Three were unaccounted for after Mission City: Barricade, Scorponok, and Starscream. Barricade had disappeared and Scorponok was still somewhere in the sands of the Middle East. Starscream had fled the battlefield, but Optimus was sure he would return, and with reinforcements. The Autobots had yet to locate the Decepticon vessel, Nemesis, even though it was probably hidden somewhere in the solar system. Their own scout ship, _Ark_, was half buried and disguised as the low hill behind the hangers. Sam and Mikaela were also frequent visitors to the base when they could get away from their educational institute.

Several Autobots had arrived in the months after he had transmitted his message and their ranks had doubled. He was very grateful for the presence of his 2IC and tactician, Prowl. The other arrivals had included Hound, Wheeljack, and the twin terrors Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Optimus was sure that Ratchet would have preferred to go another millennia or two without seeing the prankster twins, but they were fine warriors and would be a much needed strike force when the Decepticons returned.

Jazz had been revived with the remains of the Allspark and a great deal of diligent work by Ratchet. Optimus had been so relieved when he had found that last remaining shard in Megatron's chest after Ratchet and Ironhide had brought him the sundered body of the saboteur. However, re-energizing Jazz's spark had drained whatever energy had remained in the shard and it was now nothing more than a piece of scrap. Jazz would be the last bot ever re-sparked, or sparked, by the Cube. The original source of life for his kind was gone and their home could never be restored to what it was. Nevertheless, Optimus considered it a blessing to have his lieutenant and dear friend back. The mech could lighten the mood no mater how dire the situation.

Jazz currently occupied a seat at the large computer that filled one wall of the command center tangent the open door of the office Optimus currently occupied. Teletran II monitored the globe for Decepticon activity using a pair of recently launched satellites courtesy of Wheeljack. The engineer was currently constructing several more so as to increase the amount of the globe Teletran was able to monitor. There were dangerous gaps in the coverage that the Decepticons could easily slip through.

Optimus grabbed the data pad with the duty roster for the next several days and stood up from his desk. He'd had to make a few changes do to the unexpected absence of the team medic, but they were minor and would not cause difficulties. He walked across the room to post the new schedule.

The voice of the mech to cause the roster changes came across the comm channel.

"Ratchet to Optimus Prime."

"Optimus, go ahead Ratchet."

"**Is Major Lennox currently at the base?"**

"Yes, why?"

At this point Jazz decided to join the conversation. **"Yo, Ratch man. How's it hangin' with that little femme that picked you up last night?" **

Ratchet chose to ignore Jazz's question. "I have made a discovery. I need Major Lennox to see if he can find out more information about this woman."

"What have you discovered Ratchet?" Optimus asked.

"The woman, Rachel, has a healing wound that was inflicted by a Cybertronian weapon, but it is too old to have happened at Mission City."

Optimus and his lieutenant exchanged a look. Jazz hurried off to find the Major, bringing him back to the control room a few minutes later. He opened the comm. channel so the human could converse with Ratchet as well.

"Who is this woman Ratchet?" Lennox asked, Jazz having brought him up to speed.

"Her name is Rachel. She is a civilian medic with a local search and rescue team."

"Send me the address and I'll get Maggie to pull up some information on her."

"How bad is the wound?" Concern colored Optimus' voice.

"It's a graze. Anything more would have killed her but she has other multiple injuries about the same age."

XX--XX

"She not a civilian, well, not exactly." Lennox came into back into the control room an hour later accompanied by Maggie. They had used his office in the barracks building to track down information on the search and rescue worker. Epps had joined Jazz and Optimus in the control room while they were away. Maggie went over to the human-sized computer terminal and started pulling up the information she had on a portable flash drive. Jazz contacted Ratchet so he could also listen to the information to be presented.

"What do you mean?" Optimus asked, his curiosity piqued.

"She's a guardsmen," Lennox explained. "Army National Guard. Staff Sergeant S. Rachel O'Bryan, Delta Company, 123rd Area Support Medical Battalion." Maggie pulled up a photo of Rachel in uniform on the main screen. "Guardsmen are civilians that serve in the military on a part time basis. Most of the time National Guard units are called up to aid in natural disasters or other emergencies in their home states, but they can also be mobilized to augment regular military units."

The two bots present nodded their understanding.

"She is also a civilian paramedic with the Tulare County Fire Department. Last year, Sergeant O'Bryan's platoon was called up and deployed to Bargam Airbase in Afghanistan. Ten months ago that base was attacked. Rachel O'Bryan was one of two survivors."

"That would have been three months before the attack in Qatar," Epps noted.

"It would also correspond to the time when her injuries most likely occurred," Ratchet pointed out over the comm.

Maggie spoke up at this point, "I contacted Defense Secretary Keller and he obtained these photos of the aftermath of the attack." Several photos appeared on the screen; some taken from the air, others from the ground. Not a single building was standing intact. On the airfield, the various types of aircraft were in pieces alongside rows of armored personnel carriers, humvees, trucks and MRAP vehicles in similar states. A pair of fuel tankers still burned in one photo and bodies could be discerned in all. "The base was leveled. No one ever claimed responsibility."

One particular photo drew Optimus' attention. "Maggie, please enlarge the third photo in from the lower right."

Maggie obediently enlarged the photo to full screen on Teletran's monitor. It showed a small group of damaged vehicles off to the edge of the base, largest of which was a M1126 Stryker Infantry Carrier Vehicle. Disguised amongst the mottled camouflage was a symbol.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Lennox.

"I'm afraid so. This confirms that the Decepticons hit that base."

"Why would one stick around though?" was Epps' puzzled question.

"Unknown," was Optimus' answer. "He appears to be damaged. Some of your weapons have proven effective against our kind and the Decepticons are known to leave fallen comrades behind."

"I did find out that there was some type of prototype weapon being tested at the base," Maggie added. "I'm still working on getting more information."

"Huh, looks like that Decepticon may have been a guinea pig," Jazz speculated.

"His self repair system should have had plenty of time to work by now," Ratchet observed over the still open comm.

"Well ain't that just dandy. Now we have a fourth Decepticreep unaccounted for."

"Yes, and one of unknown designation." Optimus' voice was heavy with foreboding.

* * *

A/N: I am drawing from events in the Target exclusive movie prequel comic #2 that came with the movie in the transforming DVD case. I also know that there is a discrepancy between the movie and the prequels about the location of Tranquility. _I_am placing Tranquility and the new Autobot base in California. Specifically, the base is at northern edge of the China Lake Naval Weapons Range and the mountainous area Ratchet was exploring in chapter one is around Sequoia National Park.

A note on the blimp hangers. They are one of the few structures around I felt suitably large enough for the 'bots to not feel cramped in and generally no longer in use. Here is a little except of information on one located at Naval Air Station Tillamook in Oregon.

"Blimp Hangar B deserves recognition as the largest free-standing wooden

structure in the nation. Built in 1943, the hangar measures 192 feet high

and 296 feet wide, and is 1,072 feet long. Over seven acres of land is enclosed

inside, of which the sizeable museum barely takes up half."

I've not been there yet, but in pictures the thing is _**huge**_.


	3. Scars

Thanks again to my reviewers. It's your encouraging words that spur my writing onward. Special thanks to Litahatchee and Raiper-3 for noticing that, yes, I have been doing my homework for this fic. I can't claim to know everything about the Guard and how things work, but I've tried to keep things realistic.

Many thanks go to my wonderful beta, Lament of Meow for looking over and correcting my grammar, punctuation and spelling, and also for her encouragement and inspiration. Further thanks go to Phoenix13 ("Scent of the Future"), Litahatchee ("Night Fire"), Lady Tecuma ("Sparks and Plasma") and Karategal ("Youngling") for permission to use some of the ideas they originated later on.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. They are the property of Hasbro, et al. I'm only borrowing them. I'll return them…sometime. I do own Rachel O'Bryan.

"blah" conversation in English

"**blah"** comm. conversation

_:blah: _conversation in Cybertronian

* * *

Chapter 3: Scars

Rachel had retreated back into the house after washing Ratchet. He sat in the driveway, maintaining his guise as an ordinary rescue vehicle, but he also kept a scanner on the movements of the woman inside the house now that he was aware of her injuries. Reviewing the data his earlier scans had gathered, he judged her to be underweight by several pounds for her 5'-7" frame. Her blood chemistry also showed a slightly elevated white cell count. That, coupled with the apparent weight loss, would indicate her having recovered from a severe infection.

The Decepticon attack in Afghanistan had been a revelation to both the Autobots and their human allies. They had known that at least one Decepticon had been on Earth for several years. Bumblebee encountered Barricade almost five years ago while investigating a possible Allspark energy signature. What had not been known was that the Decepticons had taken aggressive action prior to the attack on the Soccent base in Qatar. The now disbanded Sector Seven may know about more Decepticon activity in the years prior and Secretary Keller was contacting the former Agents Banachek and Simmons to ascertain their knowledge. In the meantime, there was little Ratchet could do about the situation except wait as others gathered what information they could. It just may turn out that Rachel O'Bryan was more involved in the war than anyone knew.

About 11 o'clock, Rachel re-emerged from the house in light tan slacks and a sky blue silk blouse. Climbing into Ratchet's cab, she placed her handbag on his passenger seat and started him up. "I hope whoever owns you doesn't mind me running a few errands. My other means of transport is in the shop right now," she commented as she backed out of the driveway.

_No, I don't mind little one,_ Ratchet thought as he allowed her to drive him down the street. He was glad to be able to observe a human closely in her normal day to day activities. Though, he was a little puzzled by the woman's occasional tendency to address him as if she knew he was more than an ordinary vehicle. Their first stop was the post office. Next was a dry cleaner where Rachel picked up a couple of uniforms. Then a stop by Target and GNC. By this time the lunch crowd had cleared so she was able to grab a quick meal at a local sub shop. The next stop was at the fire house.

She pulled the Hummer around the back of the station where two men were washing down a rescue unit. The station had four pull-though bays with clear garage doors on both sides so the rigs could be pulled in the back and exit the front. The other three rigs, an engine, a ladder truck, and an older SAR vehicle a little larger than the one she was currently driving, sat in their bays with their cab doors open, waiting for the next call out. Attached to the bays were offices, living quarters and a kitchen/rec room for the station personnel on duty. Rachel was greeted by her two colleagues as she stepped out of the Hummer. "Hey, Rach, you trying to replace old reliable?" asked the shorter of the two.

"Nah, this is just a loaner I picked up during last night's extraction." She turned to address the taller and slightly older man. "Paul, I was hoping I could replace some of the supplies I used last night from our stock before I return it. It was kind of light on supplies to start with."

Paul was a fire lieutenant and second in command of the station. He was also in charge of supplies. "I don't see a problem with that Rach. We should have enough to spare. I'll give you a hand." Ratchet watched as Rachel and Paul disappeared into the station. He recognized the man as the jogger who had paused to look him over this morning.

In the supply room, Paul leaned against the wall and noted items on a list as Rachel pulled out a blanket and a couple boxes of latex gloves and placed them into one of the hand carried shopping baskets they used to transfer supplies to the rigs. "So, a loaner, eh? I saw it in your driveway this morning."

"Yeah, it was actually rather serendipitous that it was parked at the trailhead when Frank and I came out last night with the patient. We figure it belongs to an independent. Hope they don't mind us borrowing it, but we needed to get him down the hill. I would have called in a chopper if the weather had been better." Rachel explained over her shoulder as she also pulled out some trauma dressings and roller gauze in various sizes.

"Anyone there with it?"

"No, they must be camping in the mountains. Frank left a note explaining." She added an intubation kit and two wire ladder splints to the growing pile of supplies in the basket.

"Darn, I was hoping you had company last night."

"Paul!" Rachel turned on her superior, her face reddened with embarrassment, to see a smirk on his face.

"Hey, you know I don't like the thought of you all alone in that house."

"Not every woman has to have a man to make her happy," She growled, frustrated by his attempts at matchmaking. "Can we spare an Ana kit?" she asked, returning to gathering supplies.

"Sure." The Ana kit was added to the basket, along with several instant ice packs.

"How's the baby?" Rachel tried to steer the conversation away from her home life, or lack there of, and onto his.

"She's finally sleeping through the night much to Sally's relief. You should come over for dinner sometime. It's been a while since you did. Sally would love it. I think she's missed you."

"Maybe," was Rachel's non-committal reply. The conversation continued with Paul gushing over his little daughter as the two of them made their way back out to the Hummer. Little Sarah certainly had her father wrapped around her finger. Rachel handed Paul the basket then climbed into the back of the ambulance. Paul started handing her the supplies to store in the interior cabinets. Ratchet scanned the various items as they were stored away, secretly appreciative of the gift.

"So, the patient was in bad shape?" Paul asked, taking the conversation back to the previous day's rescue.

"He got caught in a rock slide up Chantel creek. We had to bring in a porta-power to get a boulder off of him," she explained, taking the last of the supplies from him.

"Internal injuries?" That was practically a given for the situation.

"Yeah, but Frank and I got him out alive."

"You have a great success rate Rach, but you know you're not always going to be able to save every patient." This was a canned speech. One which he had given several medics to try and keep them from thinking they couldn't lose a patient.

"Damit Paul, yes, I know!" Rachel replied, turning on him with venom in her voice. "I know that better than you do."

Paul was taken aback by Rachel's sudden ire and quickly apologized, "I'm sorry Rach." Mentally he berated himself. He had forgot about her experience in Afghanistan. "I know you went through hell last year. I…I didn't think before I spoke. I'm sorry." He didn't miss the pain in her eyes as she glared at him.

Rachel climbed out of the back of the Hummer, closing the doors with a little more force than she intended and Ratchet winced. She stomped around the side of the vehicle, Paul following behind sheepishly. "Rachel," he called as she sharply yanked open the driver's door and climbed inside. Paul came to the door just as she roughly closed it and he placed a restraining hand on the open window. "Rachel…if you ever need to talk about anything, you know you can talk to me."

She let out a deep breath, calming herself somewhat before turning to look at him, "I know Paul. I'm…I'm just not ready yet, but…thanks," she managed a small smile at the man before turning to start the Hummer. Paul gave the door a little pat before he stepped back and watched Rachel drive away.

Ratchet monitored her as she drove him from the fire station. She was still agitated and tense from the argument with Paul. He was not entirely surprised by her outburst. As a medic and one of the few survivors of the attack, Rachel likely had tried to save others; unsuccessfully he would guess. The experience was guaranteed to leave some kind of psychological scars. He tried to think of some way he could calm her down without revealing himself. Bumblebee had used music before he had revealed himself to Sam and Mikaela, maybe he should try that. Ratchet searched the airwaves for something suitably soothing and then switched on his radio, turning the volume up slowly so as not to startle the woman. He felt her relax somewhat before she even consciously realized the music was playing.

Rachel finally noticed the radio was on after a few minutes and looked over to it. The sound of Kenny G's smooth saxophone filled the cab and she reached over to turn the volume up much to Ratchet's delight. The ruse had worked. By the time she turned into the grocery store parking lot she was much calmer and actually humming along to the tunes.

XX--XX

Back at the base, a three-way teleconference was being held. On the right side of Teletran's monitor was the Secretary of Defense, on the left, the former Sector Seven agent Banachek. Optimus, Prowl and Ironhide stood where the imager from Teletran could relay their end of the conference to the other two parties. The subject of the conference was the woman Ratchet was currently keeping company.

"Do you think it would really be beneficial to interview this woman about the base attack?" Keller asked. Shuffling some papers in a file on his desk he continued, "According to her debriefing she was injured and buried in the rubble near the start of the attack. She did not see who was responsible."

Banachek answered him. "Unfortunately, the only other survivor is still in a coma. She is the only witness at this point."

Prowl also spoke up. "It is possible Sergeant O'Bryan saw or heard something relevant during or after the attack and does not realize that what she saw or heard was important."

"At the time of her debriefings it was not known NBE's were responsible for the attack." Banacheck resumed. "I read though her debriefing transcripts, including the ones conducted by Sector Seven." Keller's eyes narrowed at this. He didn't have the S7 debriefing transcripts. "We didn't ask the right questions. The interviewer was more interested in information about the weapon prototype and what may have happened to it so that was what the questions focused on."

Prowl's gaze locked with Banachek and became intense. He did not have the S7 debriefing transcripts either. "We need your full cooperation if we are to aid in this investigation Mr. Banachek. I need access to _all_ the files regarding the attack and Sergeant O'Bryan's debriefings. There may be relevant information that even you missed with your lack of experience with the Decepticons."

Banachek paled a little under Prowl's fierce gaze, one he normally reserved for the twins. "I'll have everything uploaded to you." Noticing Keller's equally angry gaze, "And a copy sent to you also Mr. Secretary." Banachek had a feeling he was going to get a private call from the Secretary of Defense after this conference was over.

"This weapon that was being tested, what was it exactly?" Weapons, and what they did, was Ironhide's forte.

"It was a type of wire guided missile that created a localized EMP burst that only affected its target," Banachek explained. Ironhide's optic ridges rose. Such a weapon seemed specifically designed to take out a Cybertronian, which made sense given that it was S7's purpose to study them, or specifically Megatron. The energy of a EMP burst would overwhelm a bot's systems, forcing stasis lock. It would also be very painful, not that the humans would realize that. "Unfortunately, the prototype was never recovered after the attack. The engineer that designed it was killed and most of his research was lost when the computers at the base were purged."

The more Optimus heard the more he felt that there was much more to the base attack than they knew. "How do we go about getting Sergeant O'Bryan here?"

"That's the easy part. She's National Guard." Keller replied. "All we have to do is call her up to active duty and have her assigned to Lennox's unit."

"How soon can she report?"

"It will take a little while to get the orders issued through the proper chain of command, so I'd say a week at the earliest."

"Why so long?" asked Ironhide.

"The National Guard's main purpose is to aid on a local level. The state governor can activate and mobilize Guard units in a couple of days, but to call up a unit on a national level takes more time." Keller continued after a pause, "Usually we can't just activate one guardsmen either, but since Sergeant O'Byran was the only survivor of her platoon and has yet to be permanently reassigned, it's not as much of a problem in this case." Keller failed to notice the bots' slight cringe at this revelation. To loose one's entire cohort was one of the worst things that could happen in their culture.

"Very well John. Issue the orders. When Sergeant O'Bryan is ready to report, let us know and we will pick her up and bring her here."

"Will do Optimus."

XX—XX

When Rachel returned to him from the grocery store Ratchet was pleased to note that her purchases were mostly healthy ones. There was a pair of chocolate bars and a pint of ice cream, but he would grant her a few indulgences. Optimus had contacted him while she was inside. Someone would contact Rachel tomorrow and come and "claim" him. He had found himself discontented with the notion of leaving the paramedic, but brightened when Optimus informed him that arrangements were being made for her to be assigned to Lennox's unit. In a few days time, he would actually be able to meet Rachel properly.


	4. Proper Introductions

For those that reviewed the last three chapters. Thank you very much. Reviews are the fuel that powers the writing muses.

Many thanks go to my wonderful beta, Lament of Meow for looking over and correcting my grammar, punctuation and spelling, and also for her encouragement and inspiration. She convinced me to keep a couple scenes in this chapter that I had considered deleting or revising. Further thanks go to Phoenix13 ("Scent of the Future"), Litahatchee ("Night Fire"), Lady Tecuma ("Sparks and Plasma") and Karategal ("Youngling") for permission to incorporate some of the ideas they originated later on.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. They are the property of Hasbro, et al. I'm only borrowing them. I'll return them…sometime. I do own Rachel O'Bryan.

"blah" conversation in English

"**blah"** comm. conversation

_:blah: _conversation in Cybertronian

Ok people, here is a longer chapter. Almost twice as long as the previous three. Unfortunately, it's likely to be longer between updates for the foreseeable future. Real life is taking up some of my writing time. But, please enjoy the next installment of 'Hands of a Healer.'

* * *

Chapter 4 Proper Introductions

Someone by the name of Mike Tyler called to claim the Hummer the next day. As Frank had postulated, it belonged to a wildland fire team that had been camping and doing some survival training in the mountains before the start of fire season. The twenty-something man that had claimed the ambulance looked to Rachel to be the typical, slightly reckless type that would take up the dangerous, but at times exciting, work of wildland firefighting. He had assured her that he had not minded at all that they had borrowed the Hummer (another vehicle had come to meet them also, so they had not been stranded), and was in fact happy that the vehicle had been in place to help save the life of the injured hiker.

After the man had left with the Hummer, Rachel received another call, this one from the garage working on her car. Calling a cab, Rachel left to retrieve it, never noticing the black pickup that followed her there and back. It was the same black pickup that had dropped off the owner of the Hummer. Nor did she seem to notice the silver Pontiac that was parked on the street within sight of her house when she returned. She certainly didn't hear the Pontiac report her return home.

**"Jazz to base."**

**"Wheeljack here, go ahead Jazz,"** the mech currently on communication duty answered.

**"Yo, Rach just returned home drivin' a cute little thing. Make a good alt mode for some femme when they arrive."**

**"I have logged you in taking over surveillance from Ironhide, Jazz. Send me an image of the vehicle and I'll catalog it."**

XX--XX

Two days later, after an other 24 hour rotation at the fire house, Rachel reported for her one weekend a month Guard duty. She was surprised to be called into the brigade commander's office. She was even more surprised when Colonel Alexander handed her a letter informing her that she was being called up to active duty again. It seemed that a ranger team stationed at a nearby base was down a medic and needed a replacement ASAP. The catch was that medic also needed a high security clearance. By chance, Rachel happened to have such a clearance. Combined with the fact that she had yet to be assigned permanently to a new a squad, she became the perfect candidate to replace the currently out of commission medic. The deployment was to be for at least six months but could be extended to ten if needed. She had three days to get her affairs squared before she would be picked up and taken to the ranger's base of operations, extremely short notice in her experience for a non-disaster. Saluting Colonel Alexander, she left his office with her copy of her orders not sure she was really ready to be on active duty again, but she could not refuse the assignment without a valid reason. At least she would be stateside this time. She did not want to even think about an overseas posting.

The next two days were a hectic blur as she informed the fire house that she was being called up again, found someone to take care of the house, and made arrangements so that all the bills would be paid while she was gone.

The afternoon of the third day saw her packed and ready. Since the weather was still nice and relatively warm, she decided to wash her car before she left it in the garage for the next six months. Frank would come by and drive it every once in a while just to keep it lubricated. Backing out of the garage, she noticed the silver Pontiac Solstice parked down the street. It appeared to be the same one that had been there a few days ago. One of her neighbors must have a house guest.

x--x

Ratchet and Optimus walked into the monitor room where they found Hound and  
Wheeljack listening to Jazz's husky voice coming over the comm. **"Oh, yah. Ooh, come over here and do that to me babe."**

"What's going on?" Ratchet demanded, startling the two voyeur mechs.

Hound was the one to answer, looking a little sheepish. "Rachel's washing her car."

Jazz heard Ratchet over the open comm channel. **"Ratch man, was she this thorough when she washed you?"**

The three other mechs in the room turned optics on the medic who only greeted them with silence and a carefully studied blank look. When Jazz did not receive a reply he jumped to the correct conclusion. **"You lucky mech you."**

"Jazz, report back to base." Optimus ordered.

**"Optimus,"** Jazz whined, **"this is just getting good."**

"Report back to base soldier. Sideswipe is patrolling the area. She should be safe enough until she is picked up in the morning."

x--x

Rachel looked up when she heard the engine of the Pontiac parked down the street start and watched it drive off. With its darkened windows she had not realized someone was sitting in it.

XX--XX

The next morning, two men sat in a dark SUV with tinted windows and watched as a military green Humvee pulled into the driveway. A dark skinned man with a shaved head and sergeant's strips got out and was met at the door by the woman they had started watching last night. She had obviously been expecting her early morning visitor and was similarly dressed in military fatigues. As they watched, the man lugged two duffels and a smaller bag to the Humvee. Their target emerged from the house with another small bag, locked the door behind her and proceeded to get into the Humvee which promptly drove off. The small, impromptu dinner party the woman had hosted the previous night had apparently been some sort of send off.

"Looks like we will not get an opportunity on this one for awhile. We'll have to wait until Ms. O'Bryan returns from her deployment. Email the office and have them check into it." The Caucasian man wearing horn rimed glasses instructed the dark skinned man in the passenger seat. "Meanwhile we'll move on to the next target."

The dark skinned man's only response was a nod.

XX--XX

The drive south and then north again to the other side of the mountains with Sergeant Epps to the base she was to be stationed at for at least the next six months was pleasant enough. Even though it was still spring, the weather was warm as they entered the Mojave and she was glad for the Humvee's air conditioner. Actually, she was surprised that the military vehicle even had an air conditioner. She was curious about her new assignment, and the members of the unit she was going to be working with, but the Air Force technical sergeant was tight lipped on that subject, saying only that the unit commander would fill her in once they reached the base. Sergeant Epps may not have been able to talk about his team or their mission, but he could talk about other things and they passed the time swapping stories of silly events from their respective past assignments.

Late in the afternoon, the sergeant turned off the main highway and onto what appeared to be no more than a well maintained service road. After a mile or two a high security fence appeared with a gate. Regularly spaced warning signs could be seen along the fence warning that the land beyond was government property and a highly restricted area inside which trespassers could be met with deadly force. Instead of the expected guard shack and armed guards at the gate, there was only a covered security consol and several cameras. Sergeant Epps passed a security key card though the appropriate slot and punched in a code. As Rachel watched, one camera moved, scanning the vehicle and it's occupants before the gate opened and they proceeded on.

After another 20 minutes of travel across some low lands and around some hills, the base came into view nestled between some low hills on the side they approached from and some larger ones behind. The base itself did not seem very large, only an airfield and a couple of hangers. She did not realize the size of those hangers until she caught sight of the smaller, two-story building that had been hidden from view around the side of one. If those were normal sized barracks and control tower, then the hangers were truly massive. It was toward the hanger closer to the barracks building that Sergeant Epps drove.

Seeing Rachel's puzzled then awed expression, Epps spoke up. "They're blimp hangers."

"Well, that certainly explains the size." She answered, continuing to stare out the window.

Pulling up to the towering front portals of the hanger, an inset smaller set of doors slid open, though they were still large enough for a sizable aircraft to pass through. Once inside, the doors slid closed again and the Humvee came to a halt. A group of men were clustered in an area off to the right around a set of tables, chairs and a white board. They left what they were doing as Rachel and Epps exited the Humvee. Off to the left Rachel noticed a rather unusual collection of vehicles for a military base, but her attention was diverted by the man wearing Major's insignias. Turning to face the approaching man, she snapped to attention and saluted.

"Staff Sergeant Rachel O'Bryan reporting for duty, sir!"

"At ease Sergeant. I'm Will Lennox. Welcome to 'Middle-of-Nowhere,' USA."

Falling into a more relaxed stance, Rachel shook the offered hand. "Thank you sir." Reaching into a pocket, she withdrew an envelope and handed it to the Major. "My orders, sir."

As Lennox scanned the document, Epps removed the duffels, medic's kit pack and laptop bag from the vehicle and placed them near one of the tables.

"Let me introduce you to the rest of the crew you will be working with, Sergeant." The group of six men, including Epps and Lennox came to stand in rough semi-circle around her. She thought the blond one on the right looked familiar and tried to place him. "Our communications tech Bobby Epps, you already know. This is Pat Mulderring, recon; Luis Esguerra, sniper; Brian "Tiny" Shepard, demolitions; and Mike Tyler, logistics." Tyler…wasn't that the name of the man who had picked up the Hummer ambulance last week? He did have the right build, but the man who had picked up the Hummer had never taken off his aviator's sunglasses and ball cap, so she never saw his face clearly. Before she could contemplate it further, Lennox continued, "Now, I need to introduce you to the overall commander of this unit and the rest of his team." _What?_, she thought, confused, she was told Lennox was in command here.

Lennox gently took her elbow and started leading her towards the vehicles on the other side of the hanger. "What do you know about the incident in Mission City six months ago?" he asked, only adding to her confusion. What did Mission City have to do with this?

"Not much, I was at Walter Reed at the time. I saw what was reported on the news about terrorist and heard people talking about some of the crazy things being claimed on the internet. Something absurd about giant robots and military experiments."

That was pretty much what Lennox figured. Rachel did not strike him as the type to pay attention to wild conspiracy theories. By this time he had her standing about 20 feet from a brightly flame painted semi. "This is going to be a shock, but those crazy claims on the internet are closer to the truth than the official version." Rachel gave him an incredulous look as he turned toward the semi. "OK, Optimus."

Rachel turned to look at the semi just in time to see both sides of the engine compartment explode outward, then the front grill began to fold in on itself with the bumper soon joining it. As she watched memorized, the front part of the truck began to rise above her, continuing to fold and contort. Legs began to appear, and arms, the red and blue flame patterned exterior panels of the truck sliding over to cover them like skin. The top of the truck folded down over what had been the engine and the now split windshield along with the cab doors became a chest, a recognizable head rising above it. The blue running lights that had decorated the top of the cab covered the shoulders of the goliath now standing before her, but they were no match for the intense glowing blue of the robot's eyes.

"Greetings, Staff Sergeant Rachel O'Bryan. I am Optimus Prime." The robot said in a deep, male baritone.

"Holy Shit!" Rachel's heart was racing now and she felt like she had just walked right into a science fiction movie. So focused had she been on the transformation of the semi directly in front of her, that it was only now that she noticed that the rest of the odd collection of vehicles in the hanger had also undergone a similar metamorphosis, including the Humvee she had spent most of the day riding in. Lennox still held her firmly by the elbow, preventing her from moving from his side.

"It's OK, they're friends. They're the good guys."

She heard the whir and hiss of servos as the semi, Optimus Prime she corrected herself, knelt down from his towering height. "Major Lennox is correct, you do not need to be afraid. We have pledged to protect the people of this world." With the robot's face now closer to a level with her own, Rachel could better see the intricacies of his blue eyes and the components that swiveled and turned to focus on her. He even had two, wiper-like objects that made him appear to blink.

"I take it then that you're not from Earth." She said, her attempt at humor falling flat to her ears. "What…what exactly are you?" Rachel noticed that the multiple and intricate plates that made up the robot's face gave him the ability to have almost human-like facial expression as he appeared to smile.

"No, although Earth has become our new home. We are from a planet that would be called Cybertron in your language. As for what we are, we are autonomous robotic organisms, Autobots for short." Optimus pushed off from the floor and once again rose to his full height. "I would like to introduce you to some of my officers." He said turning slightly to gesture to another shorter and slimmer robot to his right. "This is my second in command, Prowl."

As Prowl inclined his head toward her in acknowledgement, Rachel noticed that his vehicle form must be that of a white over black Dodge police cruiser. He had the familiar, though slightly altered, star logo of the California Highway Patrol on the white doors sticking out from his back like wings. Another robot, this one much bulkier and all black, moved up to stand beside Prowl.

"My weapons specialist, Ironhide." Optimus identified him. Rachel thought that he must have been the huge black pickup truck she remembered seeing next to the semi. Optimus continued the introductions by gesturing behind Rachel to the robot that had been the military Humvee. "Hound is the scout who brought you here."

"It was my pleasure Sergeant O'Bryan." Hound said pleasantly, bowing slightly to her as she turned to face him. His genuine sincerity and courteousness made Rachel smile slightly before she turned back to face Optimus.

Gesturing this time to his left he identified the mostly white robot with green and red accents. This robot had virtually no facial features at all. A blank mask covered most of his face, leaving only his blue eyes and part of what could be considered a nose visible. "This is Wheeljack, our engineer."

"A pleasure to meet you Rachel." Rachel noticed that when he spoke the two appendages that stuck out either side of his head flashed a soft blue light in time with his words. As for which vehicle he had been, she recalled a white crew cab pickup decked out in a bed lined with enough built-in tool boxes to be the envy of any contractor.

Another robot moved up beside the engineer, this one a familiar chartreuse green. "You have already met my chief medical officer, Ratchet; although he has been anxious to greet you properly." It did not take Rachel long to shift this one's form in her head to make out what vehicle he was.

"The Hummer ambulance from the mountains."

Ratchet slowly moved toward her and knelt down on one knee, trying to be as non-threatening as possible for his size. "Yes. I am pleased that I can finally meet you face to face, Rachel." He had been watching her since the moment she arrived with Hound. He had known that revealing their true forms would be a shock to her and had hoped she would quickly accept the situation. He did not think he could function if she was truly frightened of him.

"Then you willingly allowed Frank and me to 'borrow' you?" she questioned, still a little leery of these metal behemoths that surrounded her. All it would take would be one wrong step and she or any of Lennox's team would be road kill. However, she had always felt completely safe in that Hummer, and could feel that sense of safety creeping into her again.

"Your patient was in need of immediate transport to a hospital. I was not equipped to treat his injuries, but I could provide the transport, and was willing to do so." Ratchet was pleased to observe that her stress level was falling. She seemed to be adapting.

Absently, Rachel noticed that he had a pleasant, cultured voice and a caring demeanor similar to some of the best doctors she knew. "I thank you, on my patient's behalf, but why did you stay afterward?"

It was Optimus who answered her. "Your government has asked us to keep a low profile. The general population is not ready yet to know of our existence. We must blend in, hence our vehicle forms. Had Ratchet left you would have reported him stolen and drawn attention to him, correct?"

"Yes," she conceded, relaxing further. Their reasoning made sense, and no, the general population was definitely _not_ ready to know about them. "Then you heard what Frank said about thinking you belonged to an independent?" she postulated, looking back to Ratchet. She was starting to feel more at ease amongst these giant robots that stood around her. She noticed that they all kept their movements slow and carefully deliberate around the much smaller humans in their midst.

Ratchet smiled at her. "Yes, he provided me with my alibi so to speak." His scanners noted Rachel's vitals falling back into more normal ranges for a human and rose back to his feet, nodding to Optimus, confident that Rachel was adapting to them well. Lennox also released her arm as he felt her relax.

Rachel had to admit to herself that now that she had calmed down from her initial shock at meeting these giant aliens, this was turning out to be a pretty cool assignment. She just didn't understand why she, a guardsmen, had been called in to join this little conspiracy instead of a regular Army medic. She thought back on what Lennox had said earlier. "Since you are the good guys, I take it then that there are also bad guys?" she asked looking between Lennox and Optimus.

"Unfortunately, our enemies, the Decepticons, have also come to your world." Optimus explained. "With the help of Major Lennox and his team, we managed to defeat them in Mission City, but some escaped." His voice softened as he continued, "You also have encountered the Decepticons…ten months ago."

The color drained from Rachel's face and Ratchet saw her vital signs spike upward again. "Afghanistan."

"Yes, the attack on the Bargam Airbase was the work of the Decepticons." Optimus confirmed, also noting Rachel's reaction. He hated to have to put the burden of their war on the young woman's shoulders, but they needed information and she was the only source available.

"That's the real reason I'm here, isn't it? Not because the Rangers needed a medic."

It was Prowl that answered her. "Yes. We know this will not be easy for you, but there are questions that we need answered about the attack and you are the only one whom we can ask."

"However, do not discount your medic status." Ratchet hastened to reassure her, drawing her attention back to him. "I could use the help in the med bay. I have learned a great deal about your race's medical needs from your World Wide Web, but I have little practical experience in treating humans."

Rachel had to smile slightly at the CMO bot's admission, even as she dreaded dredging up the events of last year yet again. "Medical school via Web MD, huh." That only earned her an aggrieved grunt and a frown as Ratchet folded his arms across his chest.

Kneeling again and drawing her attention, Optimus opted to address her more informally, "I know that this has all come as a shock to you, Rachel. We never meant for your people to become involved in our war, but it has happened and we need your help. You may have seen or heard something that will help us locate the remaining Decepticons or ascertain what their plans are." He paused for a moment and Rachel nodded her understanding. "Major Lennox will show you to your quarters. Tomorrow morning, please report to Ratchet in the medical bay. He would like to examine your injuries. After that, please come to my office."

"Yes sir." Rachel acknowledged.

Rising again, Optimus said "Dismissed," falling back into military protocols.

Saluting, then turning, Rachel followed Lennox over to her gear and then out of the hanger.

XX—XX

Rachel looked up from unpacking at the sound of a knock and turned to see a young, blond woman in the open doorway to her barracks room. "Hi, I'm Maggie. I'm down the hall." The woman said, pointing over her shoulder.

"Rachel," she introduced herself stepping forward.

Maggie stepped forward into the room to shake Rachel's hand. "I figured. I knew they were bringing you in," she replied in her soft Australian accent. "How are you dealing with this?"

"Well…I think. It's kind of a lot to accept though," Rachel answered honestly. "I heard somewhere that some scientist believed our first contact with an alien species could be though their machines, but I don't think this is what they had in mind."

"I know what you mean." Maggie replied. Rachel gestured to a chair next to a desk, offering it to the woman as she sat down on her bunk.

"How did you end up in this? You're obviously not military." Rachel surmised this from the blond woman's attire. Maggie was dressed in a white blouse, jean jacket, capris and three-inch heals.

Maggie chuckled. "No, I'm a signals analyst with the Pentagon. I caught the Decepticons hacking into the military network and then a friend and I decoded the encryption. Glen's back at the Pentagon now, while I am working here with the Autobots." She explained to Rachel. "I just got back to the base. Jazz took me into LA for some equipment I needed."

"Jazz?"

"Yeah, he's one of the mechs you haven't met yet. Don't worry, you'll like him." Maggie added with a grin.

Lennox had mentioned during the tour of the barracks that there were more Autobots that the six she had met. "How many more are there?" she asked.

"Four that you haven't met. Jazz is Optimus' third in command. He transforms into a Pontiac Solstice."

Rachel sat up straighter. "I think I've seen him. Last week, there was a silver Pontiac parked on the street near my house."

Maggie nodded, "That was him. One of the Autobots has kept a watch over you ever since Ratchet discovered you were injured by a Cybertronian weapon." Maggie watched as Rachel unconsciously placed her right hand over her burn. "The other three are Bumblebee, and the twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe."

"Twins?"

"You'll have to ask Ratchet how that works for a mechanoid life form, but their vehicle forms are both Lamborghini Gallardos, one red and one yellow."

"Let me guess, Sunstreaker is the yellow one." Rachel remembered seeing both a red and a yellow Lamborghini last week also, though not together. She had thought it odd for one, let alone two of the expensive super sports cars to be in her small mountain city. As she thought about the prior week she realized that Ironhide had probably been the huge black pickup that had dropped off Mike Tyler to pick up the Hummer. _Ratchet_, she reminded herself. _The Hummer is actually an alien robot named Ratchet, and you're going to be under his direct command._ Gee, that sounded so unreal to her.

"Yeah," Maggie laughed. "He is also the vainer to the two. Both of them tend to be troublemakers and drive the others nuts with their pranks."

"And Bumblebee?"

"Bumblebee is a Camaro, yellow with black racing stripes." Rachel thought his coloration was fitting, given his name. "You probably won't meet him for at least a day or two." Maggie continued, "He is guardian to the two teens, Sam and Mikaela, that are also part of this. They got caught up in the Mission City incident. They come to the base on most weekends."

Silence fell between the two women then. After a few moments, Maggie stood. "Well, I'll let you continue to settle in. I'm sure you're tired after the surprises you've had today." She walked over to the door, but turned back to Rachel before exiting the room. "The mechs are all really great people, you know. They really are very caring, even if some of them act rather gruff."

Rachel smiled tentatively back at the blond who was trying to reassure her. "I got that impression today, but I am not looking forward to the interview I'm going to have with Optimus Prime and Major Lennox tomorrow." Maggie couldn't think of a response to that and just nodded. "Good night Maggie." Rachel said, saving the woman from the awkward moment.

"Good night." Maggie responded, leaving the doorway to make her way to her own room.

Rachel sighed and returned to her unpacking.


	5. Examinations Part 1

I did say the next update was going to be a while, and it has been. I hope you think it was worth the wait. This chapter and the next where going to be one _really_ long chapter, but I decided to break it up into two parts. It will not be quite such a long wait for the next installment.

Thank you Lament of Meow and Litahatchee for beta reading this chapter and for your wonderful input. Thanks also to Phoenix13 ("Scent of the Future"), Litahatchee ("Night Fire"), Lady Tecuma ("Sparks and Plasma") and Karategal ("Youngling") for permission to incorporate some of their ideas later on.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Blah, blah. Rachel is mine.

"blah" English

"**blah"** comm.

_:blah: _Cybertronian

* * *

Chapter 5: Examinations Part 1

Out of habit, Rachel woke early the next morning. Moving into the stretching exercises she did every morning she could not help but contemplate the revelations of the previous day. The briefing from Lennox after meeting their new 'allies' had been interesting to say the least, and included a short synopses of the actual events in Mission City and Qatar. Lennox had also given her a letter, signed by the Secretary of Defense no less, with orders to render whatever aid to the Autobots she could and to answer any questions they had about the incident in Afghanistan. However, the main revelation of the day had been that aliens were actually among them, and not just any aliens, but living machines. How exactly that was possible she did not know, being neither an engineer nor a philosopher, but they acted 'alive' and her intuitive reaction was to treat them as being 'alive.'

Dragging her thoughts away from contemplations of the 'definition of life,' which was just too philosophical for this early in the morning anyway, she decided she needed to get on with her day. She had two important meetings to prepare for. Lennox had excused her from morning PT until her duty schedule could be established, but she still felt the need to get out and exercise. Throwing on a set of sweats, she chose to jog a loop around the airfield and waved to the six Rangers as they jogged past on her return to the barracks. She did not see any of the robots, or mechs, as Maggie had called them. After showering, she fixed herself a light breakfast in the barrack's kitchen. She had been informed, at dinner the previous evening, that morning and mid-day meals tended to be a 'catch-as-you-can' kind of deal. When it was time for her to report to the med bay she felt as ready as she could be.

Entering the main hanger through a side door, she found the doors to the medical bay on the right, down the main hall from the assembly area, just as Lennox had described. A large, alien-looking glyph was on the left-hand door and a much more traditional, human symbol of a white square with red cross was on the right. Palming the human-height touch pad to the side of the mech-sized doors, she took a deep breath as the doors opened and walked in.

Ratchet looked up from organizing supplies as he heard the doors open. "Good morning," he said politely, leaving the supplies and moving toward her.

"Good morning, sir." Rachel put on her best face and tried to push her unease to the back of her mind.

Ratchet carefully knelt on one knee in front of her, his hands coming to rest on his other knee. "There is no need to be quite so formal since we will be working together. You may call me Ratchet. May I call you Rachel?" he asked.

"Sure…thank you, Ratchet." She answered, forcing a smile onto her face. Ratchet lightly scanned her, and noted her anxiety.

"Are you frightened of me, Rachel?" He asked softly. He found the thought depressing. He had felt drawn to this fragile human femme since he met her. He did not want her to be afraid of him.

"Truth be told, it's hard not to be intimidated by your physical size," she admitted, "but I also know that you have no intention of harming me. No, I'm not afraid of you Ratchet, nor any of the other Autobots I met yesterday." She tilted her head to one side with a puzzled expression on her face. "How did you know I was a little nervous?"

"Your system pressure is slightly elevated, you're perspiring at an above normal rate for the current room temperature, and your muscle tension is high," was his studied reply.

_Well Rach, you walked right into that one_, was her thought. _You should have realized these mechanoid creatures would have much more sophisticated senses than a human._

"I'm just a little tense about the interview with Optimus Prime," she explained aloud. "I thought I could finally put the whole mess behind me," she ended with a sigh.

Ratchet felt relieved at her words, but also sympathetic. "We know recalling what happened will be difficult for you Rachel. If at anytime during the interview you start to feel overwhelmed, say so and we will stop."

Rachel somewhat doubted that it would be that simple. After all, in her previous debriefings, none of her interviewers had been overly worried about her emotional comfort, she assumed it would be no different this time, so she changed the subject.

"Optimus Prime said you wanted to examine my injuries?"

"Yes. If I may, I would like to conduct a thorough scan."

Rachel had no idea what exactly this entailed, but she didn't think she really had a choice either. "OK, what do you need me to do?"

"Just stand still for a few moments."

Rachel watched as Ratchet's eyes seemed to loose focus and take on a green cast. She almost jumped when beams of light sprang from them and passed over her body from head to feet and back again accompanied by a slight tingling sensation. The scanning beams then changed to an orange color and passed over her again. The third and final pass was in a deep violet.

Ratchet's eyes return to their normal cerulean blue and he looked at her instead of through her. "My scans show that your injuries are healing well. The fracture of your left ulna has knit together nicely with no displacement and there is negligible scarring left from the various lacerations. You also seem to have recovered from the infection you suffered after your initial injuries."

_Those must be some pretty impressive scanners_, Rachel thought. Probably a combination of MRI, CT, PET, ultrasound, and other types unknown to human medicine.

"I would also like to conduct a physical exam of the burn." Ratchet placed his right hand in front of her. "I'll give you a lift up to the exam berth." He patiently waited as Rachel looked from him up to the table to his right, the top of which was just below his waist height or about 9 feet off the floor. Her hesitance was understandable, after all, she had only learned of the Autobots yesterday. He was gratified when she decided to trust him and calmly stepped forward and sat in the palm of his hand. He gently curled his fingers around her and slowly lifted her up as he stood.

"We'll have to install some sort of ladder or stairway on the exam tables if you are to be assisting me." He commented as he helped her onto the table top, "I'm sure Wheeljack and I can come up with something that will be suitable and not get in the way." Ratchet considered the apparatus that Optimus had fitted to his desk so it was easier to conduct meetings with their human allies. Something similar should work.

He hooked a rolling stool with his foot from under the table and sat down. "Please remove your upper outer garments," he requested, returning to the business at hand. "You may leave you under garments on as they will not interfere with the exam."

Rachel noticed that he just sat there patiently, waiting and watching her. Apparently, the giant robot doctor did not understand the concept of human modesty. As a species that had no need for clothing, she supposed it would be a foreign concept to them. Even for humans it was a learned cultural mannerism. Those scans he just ran probably didn't leave her anything to hide anyway. Pushing aside her learned uneasiness at disrobing in front of someone, she stripped out of her uniform shirt and the tan t-shirt underneath, leaving her in desert camouflage trousers and a black sports bra. As soon a she dropped the t-shirt to the berth, he rolled forward.

"Lift your left arm up over your head, please."

Rachel lifted her left arm and bent her elbow, placing her left hand behind her head. Ratchet placed his left hand at her right side, curling his fingers around to provide support for her to lean against as his right hand very gently explored the burn. Rachel had been prepared for his metallic fingers to be cold against her bare skin, but was relieved when, in fact, they were pleasantly warm.

Gliding his fingers over the scar, Ratchet's sensitive tactile sensors mapped the uneven texture as his optics noted the mottled coloration. His scans indicated that the plasma burn had destroyed both layers of her soft body armor, the dermal and epidermal layers of her skin, reaching almost to the musculature underneath. This was defined as a 'third degree burn' in human medical literature. The uneven texture he was detecting had a distinct pattern. A quick internet search on burn treatments provided an explanation. "You received a skin graft."

"Yes," Rachel replied, "after the infection cleared."

It was an interesting solution for an organic being, he admitted. Take a small section of armor from one section of the body, cut it in a pattern and expanding it to fit a much larger destroyed area. It allowed for a more rapid healing and a smaller chance that contracture in the healing area would restricting movement.

"Is there any discomfort?"

"No, not anymore. Only if I stretch too far or twist to the right."

"The scar tissue does not have the elasticity of your normal skin. Massaging a crème into the tissue and a series of stretching exercises, over time, should restore much of the elasticity."

"I have been doing some stretching already."

Ratchet only emitted a humm in reply, then extended a slender, needle-like, appendage from the index finger of his right hand. He heard Rachel inhale sharply in startlement at it's sudden appearance and felt her lean harder into the fingers of his left hand. He also noted her increased heart rate.

"It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to use the probe to assess the level of nerve damage you suffered," he explained in reassurance. "I'll use very light tactile pressure and gradually increase it until you indicate that you can feel the probe tip, OK?"

Nodding in understanding, Rachel relaxed a little against his hand, her left hand return to it's former position.

"Now , close you eyes and tell me when you can feel this." He waited until her eyes closed before lightly dragging the needle probe across a section of the burn scar. He was pleasantly rewarded with a small, yet visible jump in her abdominal muscles.

"Yes, it's a little dull but I can feel it. There is a 'pins and needles' tingle in some places."

Rachel relaxed further as he continued to lightly probe various areas of the scar with her indicating when the pressure was sufficient for her to feel.

"The nerve damage appears to be nominal. You may even regain some additional feeling in some areas as it continues to heal."

Rachel opened her eyes and lowered her arm from behind her head. She watched as the needle probe was retracted back into Ratchet's finger. She stepped forward and reached out to touch the very slight seam, which was all the evidence that the probe had left of it's existence.

Ratchet let her explore the transformation seam, her touch feather-light. The look on her face was one of rapt fascination. Her fingers began to trace other, similar seams in his hand.

"Do your hands contain multiple tools?" she asked, looking up at his face. He still towered above her, even though he was seated, while she stood on the table. It should bother her, but she found that it really didn't. The hand she was examining was nearly as long as she was tall. Finely controlled strength was in those hands. She guessed that they could easily crush a car, but would also cradle a new born chick in complete safety.

"Yes," he answered her, still able to feel the touch of her now stilled hands on his finger. "I was built as a medic, it is my primary function. I can reconfigure both hands, either completely or in parts, into various tools." He moved his left hand away from her and allowed his hand to transform into a welding torch, then back again. He did not mention that they could also form into weapons.

"Neat," was her comment as she grinned up at him.

"Now, where was the donor site for the skin graft?"

"My lower back," she answered.

Ratchet made a twirling motion with a finger and Rachel obediently turned around. Reaching back, she pulled the waistband of her trousers down far enough to expose the scarring from the graft donor site that lay just below her waist and to the left of her spine. The tingle of a concentrated scan tickled the site.

Ratchet could tell that this scar was surgical. It had regular edges, covering only about a third of the area of the other scar, and was not as deep. Glancing over the rest of her exposed back, he noticed something else.

"What are these," he asked, touching two small, parallel, dark lines in her skin on her left shoulder near the base of her neck. The sensors in his hand found traces of a radioisotope in her skin in the same location, but not enough to harm her.

"Those?" she questioned, reaching over her shoulder to touch the small scars. "I don't know. I noticed them after I got out of the hospital." She turned back around to face him. "I assume I got them in the attack," she concluded with a shrug.

"What about your body art?" Ratchet asked, pointing to the symbol that lay just below her ribs.

"My squad tattoo?" she asked, looking down. The burn had almost completely destroyed the shield with eagle that formed the main part of the tattoo, leaving only a portion of the medics staff and serpent that lay behind the shield intact. Her entire squad had gone out and had the tattoo of the unit's insignia done after a particularly successful and satisfying mission. She hastily pushed aside the thought and memories of her squad that it awoke.

Ratchet noticed her sudden change in mood. "I can restore it if you wish," he offered.

"No, that's alright." Rachel said in an emotionless tone, reaching down to retrieve her clothing and avoiding Ratchet's gaze. "The squad is gone, it is fitting that the tattoo is as well."

Rachel tugged her T-shirt back over her head as Ratchet contemplated her statement. He was more disturbed by the way she had said it than what she had said. These people had been her friends and teammates. She was acting as if they meant nothing to her. Between this and the outburst at the fire station, he was beginning to suspect that she had unresolved emotional issues pertaining to the deaths of her squad mates.

"Is there anything else?" she asked. Ratchet could sense her anxiety returning and decided to let the subject slide for now.

"I would like a blood sample to run some further tests. The way your immune system handles infection on its own is quite fascinating." Ratchet was excited to have the opportunity to examine a sample of her blood closely after her system had successful fought off such a major infection. "Our systems are not nearly so effective or adaptive. Almost any infection requires the intervention of a medic at some point."

"Do you have a means of drawing blood?" Rachel inquired with a small smile, his obvious enthusiasm distracting her somewhat from the uncomfortable previous subject. "I can draw it…"

She was interrupted when a maelstrom of red and yellow burst through the med bay doors. "Hey Ratch," said the red, "we hear the new human is in here, this morning, for a torture session. Where is the femme? We want to meet her."

"Sideswipe, I am in the middle of an exam. If neither of you are in immediate danger of deactivation, get out. You can meet her later." Annoyance filled his voice and he did not bother to turn around to confront the brother mechs.

"But Ratch…"

"I said OUT!" He punctuated his yell by grabbing a sizable wrench off the bench next to the exam table and throwing it at the two mechs. There was a loud metallic 'clang' as it impacted the cranium of the yellow one.

"Ouch! Hey, watch the paint."

Ratchet just produced a menacing growl from his engine and reached for another wrench.

"We're going, we're going," yellow said, turning and pushing red out the doors ahead of him.

Rachel had been a bit startled by the medic's actions, at first, but had the distinct impression that this was a normal occurrence. She did not think Ratchet had aimed at anything vital. The yellow one had acted more annoyed at the damage to his finish than injured.

A smile started to form on her face as she watched the exasperated medic grumble under his breath as he got up to retrieve the thrown wrench from the floor near the now closed doors.

"I take it those were the infamous twins?"

"The banes of my existence," was his frustrated reply as he returned. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. I swear I am going to reformat those two into toasters."

Rachel chuckled at his empty threat. Thorns in his side they may be, but she knew he would never truly harm them. It was not in his nature.

"How can they be twins?" she asked, seizing the opportunity to inquire about the subject that had come up with Maggie the night before. "I'm guessing that it has to be more than just that they where created at the same time," she continued with a inquisitive tilt to her head, watching as Ratchet replaced the wrench back amongst the carefully arranged tools on the bench.

Ratchet had to be secretly grateful for the brothers' aggravating burst into the med bay as he explained to Rachel the concept of sparks, how each spark was unique, and how one could split before being placed in a body, and, hence, create a set of rare twins. The twins, glitches that they were, had unwittingly been the instrument to relax Rachel. Not that he would ever tell them. That would just encourage behavior he did not want.

During his explanation, he brought over a human-sized chair with an attached writing surface and placed it on the exam berth near Rachel. He also retrieved a box from the tool bench and placed it on the berth as he sat once more on the stool. Taking the hint, Rachel sat in the offered chair and placed her left arm on the small writing surface. She watched as he brought out some small and, clearly, specialized tools from the box and handled them with an amazing dexterity, given the size of his hands.

"Not all Cybertronians are as large as myself. There are some that are close to human sized. These are some of the tools I use to work on them." Laying aside a wicked-looking and very large syringe-like instrument that he had prepared earlier for this purpose, Ratchet held up what was clearly a rubber exercise band and proceeded to wrap it snugly about her upper arm. The band was much longer and wider that what was normally used for a tourniquet, but was serviceable for the application, and more in line with what he could handle. Ratchet handed her an alcohol prep pad. "You can assist me by prepping the area."

Rachel took the offered pad and ripped the package open and swabbed the inside of her left elbow, then fisted her left hand. Ratchet gently placed one finger on her forearm, pinning it down to the small desk and illuminated her arm with a yellow light. The light made her skin take on a sickly, greenish-yellow cast, but the veins under the skin now stood out prominently as black lines.

"Wow," Rachel said as she watched him expertly insert the needle into her vein with her barely feeling it. "That's handy." She could wish she had a similar light for all the patients that were hard sticks.

Ratchet's finger left her forearm as the vial on the syringe filled with her blood. He loosened the rubber band then used a pair of tweezers that emerged from a finger to place a gauze pad over the needle as he withdrew it. Rachel took over applying pressure to the small puncture, allowing him to remove the sample from his syringe. He took it over to a testing area across the med bay, making sure the anti-clotting agent in the vial was well mixed with the sample before he placed it in a refrigerated cabinet for later study.

"Do you need a piece of tape to hold the gauze in place?" he inquired, returning.

Rachel peeked under the gauze pad to see that the bleeding from the small wound had stopped already. "Nope, I clot fairly quick." She removed the pad completely, revealing the small scab that had formed. Ratchet took the used gauze and prep pad from her and disposed of them and took away his tools as she retrieved her uniform shirt.

"Are you ready to meet with Optimus?" he asked as she buttoned up the shirt and stuffed the tail into her trousers. He had already informed Optimus via comm that he was nearly done with his exam.

"As ready as I'll ever be. Let's get this over with."

* * *

AN: For those wondering, Ratchet's light so he could find Rachel's veins to take a blood sample is real technology under development right now. The current device is rather large and suitable only for use in a hospital, but I am sure that someone will manage to miniaturize the technology and it will make it's way into the hands of ambulance crews eventually. When I saw the news report on the experimental device, I thought, 'Ratchet has to have one of those.'


	6. Examinations Part 2

OK, here is the second part of what was one really long chapter. We finally find out some of what happened in Afghanistan. Flashback is denoted in _italics_.

Thanks again to both Lament of Meow and Litahatchee for beta reading this chapter and for their helpful input. Thanks also to Phoenix13 ("Scent of the Future"), Litahatchee ("Night Fire"), Lady Tecuma ("Sparks and Plasma") and Karategal ("Youngling") for permission to incorporate some of their ideas later on.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Blah, blah. Rachel is mine.

"blah" English

"**blah"** comm.

_:blah: _Cybertronian

* * *

Chapter 6 Examinations Part 2

While Ratchet had been examining Rachel's injuries, Optimus had been meeting with Prowl and Ironhide to go over the transcripts of the previous debriefings, including the newly acquired transcripts from Sector Seven. Rachel had apparently known quite a bit about the prototype EMP weapon. An accident had landed the engineer that had created it in the field hospital at the airbase. Lieutenant Christopher Conner had become quite chatty under the influence of pain medication and in the presence of Sergeant O'Bryan. Rachel had dutifully reported the breach of secrecy and had been assigned exclusively to oversee Conner's recovery to keep the possibility of information leakage to a minimum.

Even in pain, the engineer was dedicated enough to work out, out loud, what had gone wrong with the test that had caused him to be injured. Rachel ended up being his sounding board and had gained a fairly good working knowledge of the weapon as a result. The missile component of the weapon contained a web-like filament material that could carry a large electromagnetic charge. The missile would explode just prior to impact, covering the target in the fine filament web which would release its charge upon contact with the target by it's central trigger point, vaporizing the filament material, but releasing enough energy into the target to overload electrical systems and fry active components. The web filaments were not charged until just prior to firing and over the week and a half the engineer had stayed in Rachel's care, he had worked out why the charging pack had exploded during it's first full power test.

In her debriefing, Rachel said Conner determined that it had been tuning the charge frequency of the EMP to the same narrow band as NBE1's power source that had been the issue. The resulting charge had been too unstable for the pack to contain. Rachel, of course, had no idea what an NBE was when Conner mentioned it and had wisely not asked. Once Conner had been released from the field hospital, he had widened the frequency band the weapon operated on and subsequent tests had proven successful.

The Autobots at least now knew what had drawn the Decepticons to Afghanistan. The explosive failure of the EMP's charging device had sent up an energy flare at exactly Megatron's spark frequency. The subsequent tests, although conducted at slightly wider frequency ranges, had guaranteed attracting the Decepticons' attention. It was unknown if the weapon had been destroyed during the attack or if the Decepticons had taken it. The fact that none of the uncharged missiles had been found after the attack strongly pointed to the later possibility. The danger the weapon posed to the Autobots was very real, especially since it had been designed to disrupt spark energy. They each had multiple fail-safes to ensure that such an energy discharge would not be fatal, but it would be debilitating, and more so than a normal EMP. The humans had proven their ingenuity in creating the weapon. Starscream, if he had obtained it, was enough of a scientist to take their ingenuity and make it deadly.

Optimus wrapped up the meeting as he received the comm from Ratchet and Ironhide left to inform Major Lennox of the imminence of the next meeting since he would sit in on the subsequent debriefing as the human government's liaison. Ironhide then took the report on the EMP weapon to Wheeljack so that he and the engineer could begin work on possible defenses.

Major Lennox arrived and climbed the steep, ships stairway arrangement attached to Optimus' desk. He brought with him a pitcher of water, some cups, and a box of facial tissues which he placed on a low table in front of the two upholstered waiting room chairs arranged on top of the enormous desk for the comfort of the humans.

XX—XX

As Rachel followed Ratchet from the med bay, her earlier bravado was forgotten and she allowed a numbness to settled over her. She felt nothing, thought of nothing, just obediently followed Ratchet down the hall, into the command center and over to the door that lead to Optimus Prime's office. If she started thinking about the subject of the imminent meeting, she would only want to run and hide. Ratchet keyed an entry code into the pad beside the door and politely stood aside and waited for her to enter ahead of him. Wearily, she proceed. Once inside the door, she saw Prowl and Optimus standing beside an oversized desk with what appeared to be a stairway right out of a naval vessel attached to the right end near the wall. There were also three very large chairs arranged around the desk, one behind and two in front.

Hearing the door slide closed behind her, sealing her fate, Rachel took a deep breath and made her way over to the steep stairway as Ratchet greeted his colleagues. Upon she ascended the stairs she was relieved to also find Major Lennox present. Snapping to attention, she saluted both Optimus and Lennox. "Reporting as ordered, sirs."

"At ease Sergeant," Optimus said, acknowledging her salute, as Lennox return it. Gesturing to the chairs on his desk, Optimus added, "please be seated." Rachel took one of the two chairs as Lennox settled into the other. Optimus and Prowl also returned to their seats as Ratchet sat down in the chair Ironhide had abandoned, but not before sliding it closer to Rachel.

"We have gone over the reports from the attack on the Bargam Airbase and believe we know why the Decepticons targeted it." Optimus began. "From your Sector Seven debriefing, Sergeant, you said Lieutenant Conner determined that the reason the charging pack for the prototype EMP exploded was because it had be tuned to the energy frequency of NBE1, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Rachel answered easily, relieved somewhat as it seemed the questions were at least initially not going to focus on the attack itself or the aftermath that still gave her nightmares. It seemed that the Autobots were as interested in the EMP as S7 had been. "Conner said the frequency caused an instability in the pack resulting in the explosion that injured him. After altering the frequency band, the weapon worked as designed."

Major Lennox made the implied connection, "So this EMP weapon was specifically designed to take out NBEs."

"Apparently," answered Prowl. "Sector 7 was correct to consider the Decepticons a threat. However, when Conner used Megatron's fundamental spark frequency to charge the weapon, the subsequent explosion sent up a signal the Decepticons were sure to detect."

"So the 'Con's thought they had found their long lost leader." Lennox concluded leaning back into his chair.

"That is the most likely conclusion." Prowl succinctly confirmed.

By this point Rachel was a little confused and her curiosity overcame her numbness enough for her to venture a question. "Sirs, if I may pose a question, what is the connection between this NBE1 and what basically forms the core of your being?" she asked, Ratchet's explanation of sparks fresh in her mind.

Ratchet relieved her confusion. "NBE is the acronym S7 used for Non-Biological Extraterrestrial."

"Non-Biological…?" The bots could see Rachel making the connection, "He meant one of you." She looked to Ratchet for affirmation of her theory.

"Yes," Ratchet confirmed, "NBE1 is the designation S7 gave to a Cybertronian they discovered buried in the arctic ice. It was Megatron, leader of the Decepticons. He had crashed several thousand of your years ago while searching for the Allspark."

"That's how S7 knew of your existence even before Mission City," she concluded, remembering yesterday's debriefing and the story of how this human/alien alliance began.

"S7 held Megatron in cyrostasis and studied him under the Hoover dam for over seventy years," Lennox informed her.

Rachel raised her eyebrows at that but did not comment. Since meeting the Autobots, she could not be surprised overly much by any governmental secrets she learned. "Then as Major Lennox said, S7 was developing the EMP to use against you." It was at this point that the medic came to the fore in Rachel. "What would have happened if they actually used it on one of you?"

The three bots exchanged a look, but it was the SIC that spoke. "Without more specific information on the weapon itself, we don't know for certain."

"It would not be pleasant," Ratchet informed her, "but our systems contain multiple fail safes to prevent the disruption of the energies of our sparks," he added in reassurance.

Optimus seized the opportunity present by the turn of the conversation, "It is possible that the weapon was used against one of the Decepticons that attacked the base." Picking up the data pad in front of him, he brought a photo up on the screen and turned it so that Rachel could see it. "Do you recognize this vehicle?"

"It's a Stryker infantry carrier." She identified, "there were several on the base."

"Do you remember this one in particular?" Optimus touched the screen and it zoomed into the side of the carrier, "It bore this symbol. Have you seen it before on anything?"

Rachel leaned forward to take a closer look at the symbol in the photo. It was a mask-like face similar to the one she had noticed first on Ratchet's ambulance form, and that she now noticed all the Autobots wore in some fashion. But this mask was more sinister and had horn-like projections and something that almost resembled a beak.

"No, I can't say that I have," she concluded. "Why?"

"It's the faction symbol of the Decepticons. This vehicle was photographed after the attack. It's a Decepticon in vehicle mode. The grid pattern of scorch marks on some areas of the armor make us believe he may have been hit by Conner's EMP."

"Secretary Keller's office is still trying to track down what happened to the vehicles destroyed in the attack," Lennox input. "So far no luck on tracking down that Stryker."

Ratchet noticed that Rachel had gone still. "Rachel?" he questioned, drawing the attention of the others to her.

"Just before the attack, I remember a Stryker coming in from patrol in the mountains." She explained, her eyes focused on a spot on Optimus' desk top in front of her.

"Sergeant, please start at the beginning and tells us everything you can remember of that day," Optimus asked, his voice as calm and as soothing as he could make it. "Any detail, no mater how small or seemingly mundane may be a clue as to what the Decepticons planned or where they may be."

Rachel took a deep breath. _This shouldn't be hard_, she told herself. _You can do this. You did it before._ In a soft voice, she began, "It had been a pretty routine day…"

_Flashback: 10 months ago, Afghanistan._

_Rachel came off her shift in the field hospital set up in one of the hangers on the airbase and paused outside to leaned against the wall and watch the evening sky. It had been quiet recently with no major engagements with Taliban fighters. Most of the injuries she had seen of late had been the result of accidents on base. Today, her time had been spent inventorying supplies from the latest shipment, restocking the surgical bays, and helping four nurses from the platoon change dressings on the few patients that occupied the recovery ward. Her guard platoon consisted of three squads, two surgical squads with most of the doctors and nurses, and her search and recovery squad of field medics whose job it was to go out with ambulance units to the battlefield to triage and stabilize patients for transport back to the field hospital. _

_As she watched the darkening sky, a bright fireball caught her eye and she watched as it broke apart into five separate pieces before passing behind the mountains. _

Prowl and Optimus locked optics over Rachel's head and an unspoken message passed between them. Five cometary protoform shells. That meant at least five Decepticons had attacked the base, perhaps as many as seven since at least two of the initial group were known to have symbiotes. They turned their attention back to Rachel as she continued.

_Rachel watched the sky for close to half an hour after that, relaxing and unwinding, before she pushed off the wall and started across the tarmac toward the barracks. On her way past the building which housed the motor pool and repair garage, she stopped to talk with some of the mechanics. The mechanics on duty that night were another guard group from California and she knew a couple of them._

_A slight commotion arose at the edge of the field as a Styker vehicle approached the base from the mountain pass, kicking up an obscuring cloud of dust behind it. She assumed it was returning from a patrol and so paid it no mind. Leaving the mechanics, she headed for the garage, intending to use it as a short cut to get to the barracks on the other side. As she passed through the open sliding metal doors of the bay, one of the mechanics shouted a goodbye at her and she turned back and lifted her left arm in a wave._

_At that moment, she was blinded by a brilliant light. Explosions sounded as a searing pain flared in her left side. Instinctively, she flung herself to the right, behind the wall and to the floor behind a short stack of pallets. More nearby explosions sounded and the wall and roof of the building collapsed inward on top of her. She found herself pinned under the metal sliding door of the garage when it fell against the stack of pallets. It was the only thing that saved her from being crushed as the cinder blocks and girders fell all round. Unfortunately, her left arm was not under the protective barrier and she cried out in pain as a block fell on it. As it rolled off, she quickly brought the injured arm to her chest, placed her good arm over her head and curled into the smallest ball possible as the rest of the building collapsed around her. She continued to hear explosions and gun fire rip though the night._

_There were other sounds too, ones she could not readily identify, but that could be some kind of weapons fire. She had no idea what the prototype EMP weapon developed by Lieutenant Conner may sound like. To her knowledge it had never been used in a combat situation. He had only recently managed to get it to function properly. All too soon the sounds of battle ceased and she knew the enemy, whoever they were, had won. Her priorities became survival and to evade capture. She was probably safe from detection where she was, under the rubble. She just had to wait until the enemy left the area. She doubted they would stick around long or search the rubble._

_Uncurling, she began to take stock of her injuries. He left forearm was definitely broken. The stabbing pain whenever she moved it and the heat from the swelling told her that. Careful probing with her other hand revealed that it was a closed fracture, the broken bone had not penetrated her skin, although she could feel that the arm was severely bruised and scraped up where the block had landed on it. She needed to stabilize it, but had nothing at hand to use as a splint. More worrisome was the burn on her left side. She could not see the wound very well in the dark, but she could smell the sweetness of charred flesh and feel the sticky wetness. And the pain was far worse than that of her arm. A shiver racked her body and she realized she was cold despite the lingering heat of the summer day. Not a good sign. It meant she was starting to go into shock. She needed to get out._

_Ahead of her lay a tangle of debris, but she noticed a small dance of light and shadow coming from the direction of her feet where the open doorway of the garage had been. That was going to be her way out. It posed a problem though. She need to turn around in order to move some debris and widen the visible opening. With the slant of the metal garage door laying on top of her, she only had a limited amount of space. This was going to be tight and it was going to be painful. Gritting her teeth she began to twist, using her right arm and keeping pressure off her abused left. The motion flared the pain in her left side to such intensity that she had to stop. Sobbing from the pain, she rested. Then calling on every ounce of will she had and every bit of flexibility, she continued the rotation._

She had also called on a seldom used ability she had discovered several years ago. It had allowed her to maneuver in the small space she had been trapped in, and she was very careful not to disclose that ability in any of her debriefings, including this one. A lab rat was something she had no desire to be.

_A small whimper escaped her throat as she completed rotating her position and she lay there for a while, resting and panting, waiting for the pain to subside. She had acquired a few more cuts and scrapes, plus the maneuver had placed more strain on her left forearm than she had hoped and it throbbed. It had also forced a great deal of grime into the open and weeping burn, increasing the likelihood of infection. As she lay there, watching the dance of light and shadow before her now, her sensitive nose twitched and she sneezed at the sent of burning diesel and aviation fuel, probably the source of the wavering light. She could also smell the iron tang of blood that was not her own. Her acute hearing also pick up the crackle of the flames. There were other sounds to and she stilled her breathing to listen intently. A vehicle was approaching, and something else as well. An averistic fear came upon her and she could feel her hackles rise. It sounded like the footsteps of some giant, setting up rhythmic vibrations in the concrete slab beneath her as it approached. _

_The flickering light that she had been watching was suddenly occulted by something, throwing her hiding place into complete shadow and she froze, barely even breathing. The giant's footsteps stopped and she heard a new sound. A grinding and clanging of gears, the hiss of hydraulics, and metal slipping over metal smoothly. _

Rachel came out of the slight stupor she had been in as she recalled the attack. "At the time I had no idea what I was hearing," she said, keeping her eyes locked on her hands clasped in her lap, "but now, after meeting you, I think it was the vehicle transforming."

"Please continue," Optimus urged gently, confident that what she had to say next was important. Glancing up at his medical officer, he noticed that Ratchet had placed his hand behind Rachel's chair and was surreptitiously scanning the femme.

"It's hard to describe what I heard next," she said, frowning slightly. "The only way I can describe it is voices. Metallic, synthetic voices."

Voices. That one word stabbed at Optimus' CPU and he glanced over at Prowl, catching the tactician's optics. Prowl nodded.

"One voice was deep and gravely, the other higher, screechy, and quite annoying, like fingernails on a chalkboard." She shivered at the memory.

"Starscream," Prowl confidently identified. Her description of the voice fit the arrogant

seeker.

Rachel continued, ignoring the interaction going on over her head. "I heard another vehicle, a smaller one, join…them and…transform." She was hesitant in her narrative as she added her new knowledge of the Autobots to what she remembered. "A third voice joined the other two."

"How long did they speak?" Prowl asked.

"Several minutes," was her subdued response. She could feel somewhat relieved that at least this time her identification of the sounds as voices had been believed. In her previous debriefings the idea had been dismissed as a fiction conjured up by her concussed and shocked brain, despite medical evidence to the contrary. "I heard a large helicopter fly by, too, but it left."

"Blackout," Lennox's distaste for the mech evident in his voice, "on his way to Qatar most likely."

Optimus nodded his agreement. That identified two of the five Decepticons. Rachel had heard two others interacting with Starscream. The last was the downed Stryker vehicle. If only there was some way Rachel could tell them what had been said. "Sergeant, if you heard the language these voices spoke, could you identify it?" he asked, hope in his voice.

Ratchet looked up at his leader is astonishment. Could Optimus actually be thinking that she might be able to interpret what was said? A human's auditory range was quite limited and some of their native language would fall outside her range of hearing. Not to mention the amount of time it would take her to learn their intricate language and the tonal complexities that gave each word a different meaning depending on cadence and pitch. After all, she could not just download their language as they had hers.

"Maybe," she said, tentatively looking up at the red and blue mech before her.

_**:**__This is what our native language sounds like, Sergeant. Do you recognize it?__**:**_Optimus asked, his voice in a slightly higher tonal range when speaking his native tongue.

Whatever reaction Optimus had been expecting, it was certainly not the one he got from Rachel. The second the sentence had left his vocal processor, she had emitted a strangled cry, clapped her hands over her ears and collapsed to her knees in front of her chair. Immediately, all attention was drawn to her trembling figure. All three bots could detected the scent of terror rolling off of the woman in waves.

Lennox hurriedly knelt in front of the woman and grabbed a shoulder in one hand while snapping the fingers of the other in front of her face. No response. Rachel was off in her own world, oblivious to what was going on around her. He'd seen this type of extreme reaction once before in a solider traumatized by an ambush in Iraq. That had been difficult to witness in a man, it was far worse to see it in a young woman. The husband and father in Lennox gathered the trembling woman to his chest. "Hush, it's over, you're safe."

"Lennox, what has happened?" Optimus' voice was low and sounded ashamed.

"I think she's having a flash-back. Her mind is literally trapped in a memory of what happened. She's reliving it as if it's was happening all over again." At this moment, Rachel began to struggle slightly in Lennox's embrace as a need to escape overwhelmed her.

Ratchet's hand moved. A tiny (for him) hypodermic needle extended from his finger and was pressed against Rachel's arm. Her body relaxed against Lennox and she became a dead weight in his arms. Gently, Ratchet took the unconscious woman from him and cradled her in his hand. "I've given her a sedative."

"Will she be alright Ratchet?"

"She'll be fine after some rest." Ratchet looked up from his patient and back to his commander who had made the inquiry. "Oh, don't give me that look, Optimus. There was no way you could know that speaking our language would cause this kind of processor loop. Stop blaming yourself."

"Ratchet's right, Optimus," added Lennox, getting back to his feet. He turned to face the ashamed bot, "Flash-backs caused by post-traumatic stress are tricky. You can never know what will cause one; a smell, a sound," he ended with a shrug.

"You sound like you speak from personal experience, Major." Ratchet observed as Lennox's head whipped back around to the CMO.

"Can't say that I've never had one," he answered. "Nothing this extreme, but my unit saw some pretty nasty fighting even before we tangled with that metal scorpion in Qatar. Been dreams mostly."

"I will take her back to the med bay." Ratchet informed the group, rising.

"Very well. Inform me when she wakes."

With a nod, Ratchet left the office, hoping that once the femme woke, he could help her overcome her tragic past.

Did anyone spot the Star Wars reference in this chapter? Hint: It's not from any of the movies. And no, I don't own George Lucas' playground either.


	7. Diagnoses

OK, the Star Wars reference in the last chapter was a little difficult. For those of you who read the Star Wars novels, the reference comes from three of the novels by Timothy Zahn; "The Last Command," "Outbound Flight," and "Visions of the Future." As I came up with the explanation of how the EMP worked (basically a way for it to only affect one target and not a general area), a friend pointed out that what I came up with was much like the 'Conner Net' weapon from Zahn's books, so, I decided to play up the similarity and name the inventor of the EMP weapon Conner.

Sorry it's taken me so long to get this next chapter posted. 'Real life' has gotten a little crazy so it may be a while before I get chapter 8 up too.

Thanks so much to Litahatchee for beta-ing this chapter for me. I really appreciate you taking the time to do so.

Thanks also to Phoenix13 ("Scent of the Future"), Litahatchee ("Night Fire"), Lady Tecuma ("Sparks and Plasma") and Karategal ("Youngling") for permission to incorporate some of their ideas later on.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, but Rachel is mine.

"blah" English

"**blah"** comm.

_:blah: _Cybertronian

Also, for reference, here is a conversion chart for Cybertronian time units.

1 breem 8.3 minutes (498 seconds)

1 joor 6½ hours

1 orn 13 days

1 vorn 83 years

* * *

Chapter 7 Diagnoses

Ratchet looked up from his equipment as he waited for the results of the current test he was running and glanced over at the femme who lay on a nearby berth, still in recharge. It was getting to be late afternoon now, and she still showed no sign of waking. However, if his suspicions were correct, she probably needed the rest.

While he waited for her to wake, he had begun his study of her blood. It was a fascinating substance, consisting of a water-based solution with a myriad of specialized cells, chemicals, nutrients, minerals, and proteins. It served many of the same functions as the fluids circulating in a bots systems, but there were also notable differences. However, like a sample of a bot's fluids, the ratios and balances of the various components told him a great deal about her health. For example, he had detected a higher concentration of the hormone norepinephrine in relation to the hormone cortisol during one of his test, indicating her 'fight-or-flight' response was over-reactive and that she had been under a great deal of stress for some time. Hence his reason for not worrying about her continued unconscious state, even though the fast acting sedative he had given her had worn off by now.

A specific sub-set of cells currently had his attention, those that were called leukocytes or "white cells," and were a part of her immune system. They comprised a little over one percent of her blood by volume and were one of the main mechanisms by which her organic system fought off the many micro-organisms co-inhabiting this world. Cybertronian systems did not have to cope with such a plethora of common, naturally occurring, infectious, agents. Corrosion of various types were really their only 'natural' diseases. Things such as system viruses and destructive nanites were all 'diseases' that had been created, accidentally or intentionally. The latter, more often than not.

Human 'white cells' were normally classified into six categories, but Ratchet went further in his differentiation. He had identified over 5,000 distinct types of 'white cells' in the relatively small quantity of blood he had collected during Rachel's exam. This was but a fraction of the millions of white cells her body manufactured and maintained. Most of these specific cells were in minute quantities, dormant and waiting to be activated if they came in contact with the exact agent that triggered their immune response. When that happened, some would alert the rest of the immune system, and others would multiply and create the specific antibody to fight the intruder. In many ways they were much like some of the nanites that circulated in their own systems. The few types he found in (relatively) higher concentrations, were, he assumed, those that had fought off Rachel's infection after her injury.

He found that many white cells were very similar to each other. Most likely they combat different strains of the same pathogen, be that a bacteria, virus, parasite or fungus. Others were singularly distinct, and he suspected the pathogen they were meant to fight had been artificially introduced for the expressed purpose of forcing her body to manufacture them. Vaccination against known infectious agents was a concept his people shared with human medicine, the only difference being that it was a medic that had created every anti-virus or countering nanite his people possessed. A bot's body could not create anti-viruses, but it did have a means of quarantining a new virus or destructive nanite, and minimizing it's effects until a medic could deal with it.

Rising from his stool in front of the testing equipment, he walked the short distance to the berth where he had placed the cot Rachel lay on. His hand hovered over her prone form for a moment as he ran scans. They showed that her heart and breathing rates were still indicative of deep slumber.

Reaching down, he tugged the blanket covering her back up over her shoulder where it had slipped off. He had tried to make her as comfortable as possible, hence the cot and blanket. He had even removed her combat boots. How to untie the laces had stymied him for a breem, and he had eventually just elected to cut them with a laser scalpel.

Hearing the doors to the med bay open behind him, Ratchet turned to see the black and white form of Prowl walk in. Gliding on silent feet, the SIC made his way over to take up a position beside Ratchet. Not wishing to disturb the unconscious young woman, he opened a private comm. link with the medic.

**"How is she?"**

"**Physically, she is showing signs of stress and lack of recharge, but otherwise she is fine,"** Ratchet answered. **"Her psychological health is another matter. I looked up information on the post-traumatic stress Lennox mentioned." **He expelled a soft sigh from his vents, then continued, **"It's an anxiety disorder experienced after a life-threatening event, most often seen in combat veterans, although civilian can also suffer from it. From my observations, I must conclude that she does suffer from this anxiety disorder. The flash-back and panic attack at the end of the debriefing were only the latest symptoms; I've also observed agitation, irritability, and an extreme aversion to any reminder about what happened, more specifically about what happened to her squad."**

"**Sounds much like Bluestreak,"** Prowl observed, a twitch of his doorwings the only indication of his concern in an otherwise stoic demeanor. He had taken the afore mentioned youngling under his wing, so to speak, after his entire town had been destroyed in a Decepticon attack vorns ago, and was quite familiar with the gregarious gunner's anxieties.

**"Her circumstances are similar,"** Ratchet agreed. "Her anxiety does seem to be focused more on the aftermath of the attack rather than the attack itself, otherwise she may not have been as willing to tell us what she did. I suspect that if we had pressed her about what had happened after the 'Cons left we would not have gotten much detail."

**"You suspect survivor's guilt."** The tactician quickly came to the same conclusion as Ratchet.

**"She's a medic,"** was all he said. It was all he needed to say.

The med bay doors opened again, admitting another mech. "Hey Ratch, you got a breem or two to discuss this EMP?" Wheeljack's voice was loud in the silent room.

Ratchet turned and angrily pinged the intruding mech's comm. **"'Jack, for Primus sake, be quite!"**

All three mechs held their collective 'breathes' as Rachel stirred. She rolled onto her side but did not wake.

Wheeljack could not match Prowl's silent tread, but walked as quietly as he could over to the other two watching the recharging femme. **"Sorry Ratch,"** was his sheepish apology, as he switch to internal comms. **"How's she doing."**

**"Recharging soundly,"** he answered, then sighed again. **"Just don't speak Cybertronian until I notify you otherwise. We don't want a repeat of her collapse."** Ratchet had issued an order shortly after the debriefing to all the bots to not to speak their native language vocally or over open comms until further notice.

**"It's unfortunate that we can't know what she overheard the Decepticons saying,"** Prowl regretted. **"It would have been helpful."**

**"Why not?"** asked Wheeljack.

**"She heard them speaking Cybertronian 'Jack,"** the medic explained, a bit exasperated, **"she did not understand what they said and there is no way to teach her the language in a timely manner even if she could control the anxiety created when hearing it spoken."**

**"Then download the memory from her,"** the engineer suggested helpfully.

**"That's not possible either."**

**"Why not?"** the engineer asked, only to receive a sour look from Ratchet. **"Yea, I know, she does not have CPUs like us,"** Wheeljack continued, **"but her organic brain still stores information. Sure, it's bio-chemical instead of electrical, but I'm sure I can come up with an interface device that will work if we can identify the correct memory segment."**

Prowl looked from the engineer to the medic, **"Ratchet, is it possible?"**

Ratchet looked thoughtful and his optics dimmed slightly as he searched for information on the internet. **"It is possible. There are certain scans that can identify which areas of the human brain are active during recall."** He searched more medical journals as the other two waited. **"Information is stored bio-chemically, but that is changed to low charge electrical impulses during active recall. It could work, given a proper interface and amplification, but she would need to willingly recall the event for it to be downloaded."** His optics refocused on his two companions. **"And I do mean _willingly_ recall. I will not provoke a repeat of her processor loop just to get information."** His protective nature asserted itself strongly for the femme and made him say the last bit with more force than he intended.

**"Of course not,"** Prowl's doorwings swept back at Ratchet's implied insult. He would never do such a thing. **"Start designing a unit with Wheeljack to retrieve the memory. When she wakes and you deem her calm enough, ask her if she would be willing."**

Nodding to the engineer, the tactician swiftly left the room.

"**That was harsh Ratch,"** Wheeljack admonished his long-time friend, **"Prowl would never do something like that."**

Ratchet only grumbled, returning to his testing equipment, but Wheeljack could tell by the set of his shoulders that the medic was repentant and would probably apologize to the SIC later. Moving over beside Ratchet, the engineer took out a pad from one of his many storage compartments and began the process of designing a unit to allow one of them to see Rachel's memories.

XX—XX

Ratchet placed one of the last remaining samples of Rachel's blood in the analyzer and set it to begin sequencing the nucleotides that made up the coding in every cell of her body. He'd run just about every other test already. Even though the computer was much faster than any human-built computer it was still going to take a several joors to completely decode the long, complicated molecule.

Picking up a data pad he began to go over the results of some scans he'd conducted while Rachel appeared to be running memory reviews earlier, what humans called 'dreaming.' Her restlessness in recharge had attracted his attention shortly after Wheeljack had left the med bay. He had detected increasing distress as the dreaming continued, but she had calmed when he had gently touched her exposed arm. He had begun to stroked the arm slowly when the physical contact proved therapeutic and she had eventually slipped back into undisturbed recharge. The scans of her brain he had collected during the incident had been interesting and gave him a place to start from in helping Wheeljack develop a memory tap. The engineer had left to begin the preliminary stages of building the device. Calibrating it to read human brain impulses would come later.

The two of them had also discussed the subject that had originally brought the engineer to his med bay. They had come up with a few possibilities for some kind of shunt to channel the energy from the EMP weapon away from a bot's spark. However, without more specs on the weapon, it was going to be practically impossible to develop a system upgrade that could negate it's disruptive effects.

As he read through the data on the pad, he found his CPU drifting back to the femme across the room. She was obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. She had yet to completely assimilate what had happened and come to terms with the helplessness she had undoubtedly felt. Bringing her to the base may have set back her recovery as it had removed her from the familiar support of family, friends, and colleagues. Paul, at the fire station, had clearly made it known to Rachel that he was willing to support her and to listen when she felt like talking. Now, she was surrounded by strangers.

No longer able to concentrate on the pad, he put it down.

He need a way to help her. From his research, counseling was the best and most often used treatment, getting the patient to talk about the incident and their feelings and thoughts about it, but that required trust, something he was going to have to earn from her. She may be more likely to open up to Lennox or one of the other Rangers, as they too had survived a similar attack and were familiarly human.

The thought of Rachel turning to someone else, anyone else, for comfort sent a stab of unexpected pain though his spark, but he acknowledged that his alienness was a disadvantage. Still, he was determined to make sure that it was to him she turned. After all, it was his responsibility as CMO to provide care for all in this unit, human and mech alike, wasn't it? It shouldn't be too hard to earn her trust. Rachel had shown signs of trusting him to some degree already; he just needed to expanded on that. She was assigned to be his assistant and would be spending most of her time in his presence, not that of the Rangers.

Maybe it would help if he had a form that was not quite so alien? He needed to speak with Hound.

His contemplations were interrupted as he felt a ping from the sensor that he kept trained on Rachel. She was coming back online.

Rachel woke in a rush, sitting up suddenly and clutching the blanket to her chest, heart racing. The bright lights of reality replaced dream and she closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm herself. She opened her eyes again and took in her surroundings. Drab, green-gray army blanket, folding cot on an oversize metal table _high_ off the floor, white walls and harsh lights. Memory of the last 24 hours returned. Right, she was in the medical bay of a base filled with large, alien robots. Fantasy didn't have anything on her reality.

Ratchet watched and let her calm down before he spoke or moved, to avoid startling her further.

"How are you feeling Rachel?" he asked softly from his position near the back of the bay.

Rachel still started slightly and then searched for the source of the familiar voice before spotting him across the room.

"Fine," was her less than convincing answer. Turning away, she put her hands over her face and rubbed at her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. _Relax Rach, he's one of the 'good robots,' remember. _In truth, the sight of the reflective green mech across the room was reassuring to her. "How long was I out?"

She heard him move across the room and come to stand next to the berth with her cot. She could feel the tingle as a scan past over her. Had it only been this morning that she had first felt that?

"Most of the day, it's early evening." The medic answered her. "Do you remember what happened?"

Her hands fell to her lap. "Yeah," she acknowledged disheartenly. "My first ever panic attack." She sighed and did not looked up at him. "I was warned that I might have them."

She was sure that her mental collapse had made a _great_ impression on her interviewers…

Not!

"Given the stress you were under today, and the traumatic events you experienced, your reaction is not unprecedented," he observed, his voice calm and non-judgmental.

_Maybe not, but that does not make me feel any better about it_, she thought. _Great representative of the US military I turned out to be._

Ratchet noticed her dejected countenance and tried a different subject. "You missed the mid-day and evening meals. You should be hungry. I'll have someone bring you some fuel." He activated his comm. and had the message relayed.

"No, that's alright Ratchet. I can get something from the kitchen myself," Rachel said, throwing the blanket off and swinging her sock-covered feet over the side of the cot. She would prefer to be alone for a while, to have time to regroup without being watched. She knew he meant well, but her embarrassment with her performance at the debriefing gnawed at her. The last thing she needed was the stigma of being 'unstable.'

Glancing around the berth, she failed to locate what she was looking for. "Where are my boots?" she inquired, finally looking up at the medic.

Ratchet glared down at her over crossed arms. "You are _not_ leaving my med bay until you have properly re-fueled." He was going to make sure that she had an adequate and nutritious meal at very least.

Rachel saw the determined set of his broad shoulders and the death glare he was giving her. If this robot's body language in any way corresponded to human body language, this was an argument she was not going to win. She was stuck, with no boots and no way down until he let her leave.

"Fine," she relented a bit sullen, figuring the quicker she relented, the quicker she could leave. She tucked her legs back up onto the cot to sit cross legged to wait, right elbow on a knee, chin in hand, much like a petulant child.

Ratchet nodded, satisfied.

A few minutes later Mike Tyler entered the med bay carrying a covered tray with him. Ratchet lifted the Ranger up to the med berth where Rachel sat.

"Good evening, ma'am." The tall, blond, man intoned with flare, playing the part of a fine waiter, complete with towel over his arm. However, the camouflage fatigues detracted from the image somewhat. "For your dining pleasure tonight we have Tyler's famous spaghetti with meat sauce," he added taking the cloth cover off the tray. Underneath lay a plate filled to overflowing with a pile of spaghetti, a large chunk of garlic bread, and a smaller plate of salad.

She took the offered tray and set it in her lap. "Good grief, who do you think I am? Tiny?" she asked, referring to demolitions expert, who was by far the largest member of the ranger team, and had the largest appetite. He certainly had put it away the evening before.

The tall man just shrugged. "Ratchet said you were hungry."

She looked up to the medic standing next to the berth. "Your caloric intake for the day has been inadequate and you are still under weight after recovering from your injuries," was his explanation.

"Oh, bad move man," Tyler told the medic. "Never discuss a woman's weight."

Rachel gave Ratchet a glare that almost matched his earlier one. "I'll have you know, I am only three pounds lighter than when I deployed to Afghanistan."

Pulling a bottle of chilled water from one of the many large pockets in his fatigue trousers, Tyler handed it to Rachel. "OK then," he said as he walked to the edge of the berth near Ratchet, "if you will be so kind as to give me a lift down, I'll leave the lady to eat." He wanted out of the middle of this conversation.

"Then you were under weight then too according to the height/weight tables posted by your government health department," Ratchet observed, placing his open hand on the berth.

Tyler hopped into Ratchet's offered hand, eager to escape. Safely back on the floor, he hastily made for the door.

"They are _guidelines,_ Ratchet, _averages_, not strict rules," was Rachel's counter as the door closed behind him.

XX—XX

Once she started eating, Rachel's appetite proved to be healthy and she actually managed to finish off a good portion of the huge meal, enough to satisfy Ratchet anyway. He let her eat in peace and did not asked any questions, something she appreciated. When she finished, he asked her if she was up to meeting the four Autobots she had yet to be introduced to. Feeling better, and more sociable, with a full stomach, she agreed to the introductions.

Ratchet also gave her back her boots. He seemed a little shame-faced as he handed them to her. As she lifted them off his broad palm, she figured out why. A piece of one of the laces had fell to the berth.

"I couldn't untie them so, I cut the laces," was the chagrined explanation from Ratchet.

She found the fact that Ratchet had removed her boots to make her more comfortable touching, but was also amused by how he had cut the laces to get them off. She reassured him that she had a couple of spare sets in her quarters and managed a temporary fix by tying a couple of pieces together.

Walking with Ratchet into the rec room portion of the first hanger, she was met by the sight of four bots and three humans in the room, only one of which she knew. Sergeant Epps was playing a video game with the red twin that she'd had a brief acquaintance with, while his yellow brother watched. A second yellow bot with door wings similar to Prowl's sat talking to the two teenagers also in the room. It was the smallest of the bots that first noticed her. He was the shortest of all the Autobots she had seen, but still towered above her. Burnish silver in color, he rose from his seat and moved toward the newcomers with a fluid grace she would not have thought possible for a machine if she had not just witnessed it.

"Hey li'll lady, the Hatchet finally let you out?"

"Rachel, this is Jazz," Ratchet introduced the silver bot, "he is head of special operations."

Ratchet continued his introductions, identify the next two mechs near the gaming consol with Epps. "You have already briefly met the twins, Sideswipe," the red one waved at her, having left-off his game with Epps, and turned around on the bench he was sitting on. "And Sunstreaker," Ratchet continued, identifying the yellow mech standing near his brother.

The second yellow mech and the teens had moved up beside Jazz. "And this is Bumblebee and his charges, Sam Witwicky and Mikaela Banes," he introduced the trio. The two teens moved forward to stand between the oversized feet of their guardian.

"Pleased to meet all of you." Rachel smiled at them.

"I have a report to deliver to Optimus, Rachel, so I will leave you to get acquainted."

"Don't worry Ratch, we'll keep the pretty lady company." Ratchet frowned slightly as Jazz beamed his trademark smile at Rachel. His reaction did not go unnoticed by the observant saboteur.

"Thanks, Ratchet." Rachel smiled up at him.

Ratchet felt reluctant to leave her, but he only nodded and left the room.

"So," Sam spoke up, "you're with the Army too, huh."

"Actually, the Army National Guard," answered Rachel, turning back to the teen after watching Ratchet leave.

**_Citizen soldiers, _****_holding the light for the ones that we guide from the dark of despair. _**

The burst of music emanating from the black striped, yellow, mech was unexpected and startled Rachel, but she quickly covered it. She also recognized the tune.

"Citizen soldiers?" asked a puzzled Sideswipe.

"It's one of the nicknames given to guardsmen. We are also known as 'weekend warriors,'" she informed the red mech.

"Why?" was the still puzzled question.

Rachel smiled at the question and his perplexed expression. If she had to guess, she thought the twins might be younger than other six mechs she had met yesterday. She really had no way to judge their 'ages.'

"Because that's our usual gig," she answered, relaxing a bit as she assumed a teaching roll. "'One weekend a month, two weeks a year,' as the recruiting posters say. Guardsmen are regular citizens that serve in the military part time. We can also be called to active duty when there are disasters, local or national emergencies, or in times of war."

"They're a reserve force," Jazz interpreted for the red twin.

"Essentially," Rachel agreed. "The Guard is actually the oldest branch of the US military. It evolved from the state militias formed back in colonial days. We serve a dual role. At the federal level, we do comprise the bulk of the reserve units of the regular Army, but at the state level, we serve as rapidly deployable forces that aid in emergencies and disasters that overwhelm local resources," she continued, explaining the role of the National Guard.

"Like after Hurricane Katrina," added Mikaela.

Another fragment of the same song played from the yellow and black mech.

_**Hope and pray that you'll never need me, **_

_**But rest assured I will not let you down. **_

_**I'll walk beside you but you may not see me, **_

_**The strongest among you may not wear a crown.**_

Jazz thought back on the events of Mission City and remembered seeing what he had assumed to be a few courageous ordinary citizen helping the soldiers that had come with 'Bee from Hoover Dam. He remembered one citizen in particular that had help carry a wounded solider from the battlefield. He wondered, now, if those people may actually have been guardsmen.

"The Guard has some pretty good teams," Epps spoke up from his position on the bench near Sideswipe. "We had our butts pulled out of the fire once by a Guard unit from Indiana," he said, referring to his ranger team.

"You're here on active duty then," Mikaela stated. She was somewhat familiar with the Guard. She had an older cousin in the Air National Guard. "What do you do ordinarily when you're not active with the Guard."

"I'm a paramedic with Tulare County Fire and Rescue."

"Ah," was Sam's enlightened response, "so you're working with Ratchet in the med bay."

"Yes." Rachel didn't know how much the teens really knew or were cleared to know, so she aired on the side of caution and did not elaborate.

"If I may ask," Rachel said hesitantly, "is there a reason you don't speak Bumblebee?"

In a scratchy and static filled voice, 'Bee answered, "Ratchet's told me not to over use my vocal processor before my systems have fully repaired it."

It was a order from the medic that had been reinforced in the traditional way, with a wrench to the head, after he had sought the services of the medic a few weeks after regaining the ability to speak. He had been rather chatty after the battle, glad just to be able to speak again, and his voice had suffered from his gregariousness. To Rachel, it sounded painful, and she winced.

Although shorter, Jazz still slung his arm companionably over the yellow bots shoulders. "Bee here's good at makin' himself understood in other ways."

Rachel now understood the reason for the clips from the 3 Doors Down tribute song.

She turned back to the two teens who seemed completely at easy with their oversized companions. "So, how did you two end up with this bunch?"

"Wellll…that's kind of a long story," Sam started. "It all started with my great grandfather…."

The two teens lead Rachel over to a table by the wall with another steep stairway. Atop the table was a pair of old couches that the three humans settled into. They were followed by Jazz and Bumblebee, who arranged themselves seated in mech-sized chairs at the table. Epps and the twins returned to their interrupted game. They knew the story.

XX--XX

Late that evening, a lone mech paused outside the window of Rachel's second story barracks room and scanned the woman inside. Satisfied that the femme was deep in recharge, Ratchet turned to make his way to his own quarters.

* * *

Disclaimer: Lyrics from 'Citizen Soldier' are the property of 3 Doors Down and the National Guard.


	8. Back on Track

Hey, everyone. No, I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth. Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I received some news before the holidays that has caused some upheaval in my life. Unfortunately, it has yet to be resolved, and the timeframe for resolution is unknown. There is also nothing I can do to move things along except wait. Combine the uncertainty with the hubbub of the holidays and I have had little time to write, and little inspiration. However, some vacation time away (yeah, fun in the sun!) seems to have helped me get at least a some of my groove back. I've re-written parts of this chapter several times trying to get something I like. Hopefully you will feel it was worth the wait.

With the unresolved issue before me, updates may be long in coming for the time being. Hopefully the start of a new year means things will start to happen. Please be patient with me. I have every intention of finishing this.

Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed (see list below), alerted this story (31 of you!), or put it on your fav list (16 of you!). I am only going to list those who reviewed here so as to not make this AN too long, but all of your continued support means a lot, especially when life is tough.

Reviewers from the beginning are: Nola1, Elita One, Miscao-CG, Frog1, Jessie07, Lament of Meow (nice to hear from you again), Bumblebee's Girl, Litahatchee, Rapier-3, Phoenix13, Sphere Shadow, hermonie, GreendEATHpop, xx-ENZERU, StarSwoop, Jinxed Fox, , Cassiopeia1979(thanks for reviewing all 7 chapters in one day!), and PandyBas.

Thanks to all of you!

Special thanks to Litahatchee for also being my wonderful beta. I will also eventually start using the term 'carrying' from her story "Night Fire."

In this chapter I start to references parts of Bumblebee's past and origin used with permission from Karategal's story "Youngling."

**Special Note:** I'm not sure if anyone has caught on yet, but this story will be a slight crossover. I've already given you three hints in previous chapters as to what it is. The next one I have planned will probably clue everyone in. First person to guess the correct crossover gets a whole batch of fresh baked internet cookies.

Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers, do own Rachel.

* * *

Chapter 8: Back on Track

The glaring, green light on the table beside the bed mocked the woman in the dark room. 3:45 am, it read. As she continued to watch, the numbers changed to 3:46. She had been watching them, off and on, since they read 3:17. Rachel could not say how many times similar numerals had stared back at her from her alarm clock at home over the last six months. Falling asleep had not been a problem, thanks to the residual sedative in her system, but it was gone now. The combination of the amount of sleep she had the previous day, plus the start of a particularly bad dream, woke her.

She supposed she had to finally admit to herself what Paul had been hinting at for a while now. Yesterday's panic attack just was the club over her head that she had needed. The panic attack, the dreams, and the anxiety she had been feeling, all added up to post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD.

She turned over onto her back and lay an arm over her eyes.

Now what? There was no way she was going to give up this assignment. She was working with real, live aliens. How many people could say that? Who could she talk to anyway? Certainly not Paul, nor any of the usual counselors in the fire department or the military medical corp; not now that she knew that aliens were also involved in the Bargam attack. The whole incident was so classified that even only a few in the top brass knew what really happened.

No, she was going to just have to find a way to deal with it herself.

Even her normal routine after waking from one of the dreams was going to have to change now too. Normally, she would have got up soon after waking and watched a little late night educational TV on the Discovery or History channel, something to occupy her mind with while she drank a mug of hot vanilla, but she did not want to wake anyone else. The hallways of this old, concrete building echoed horribly and the sound from the TV lounge would carry, especially to the Ranger's quartered on the first floor. The TV in the 'rec room' of the main hanger was another option, but then she might have to explain why she was up to one or more of the Autobots. She did not want to face that, at least not yet. She was not sure any of them would even understand the concept of dreams. Maybe she could just have the hot drink.

Turning on the small bed-side lamp, Rachel pulled on a set of sweat pants and a zip-up hooddie over the cotton t-shirt and shorts she wore to bed. With flashlight in hand, she headed down from her quarters to the mess hall on quiet, stocking-covered feet. Once there, she heated a mug of milk in the microwave, making sure to stop the appliance before the timer dinged. Digging though the supplies in the cupboards, she found a small bottle of imitation vanilla extract. Grimacing in distaste, she never-the-less placed a spoonful in the mug of heated milk along with some sweetener. She would have to purchase some real vanilla extract whenever she was granted leave. For now, the imitation would do. Sipping the soothing, hot drink, she grabbed up her flashlight and made her way back to her quarters.

Quietly moving the room's single chair over to the window, she sat, sipped her drink, and watched the stars roll across the sky only to disappear behind the huge black rectangle that was the blimp hanger. Her room did not have the greatest view, mostly just the side of the huge hanger, but the barracks building was set at a slight angle, so she could see part of the hills behind the hanger. There would be a much better view of the sky from the flat roof of the barracks. Trying to trace constellations in the small sliver of sky she could see, she wondered if one of the stars visible in the dark, desert sky was the home of their alien visitors. Contemplations of the night sky, and what the home of the Autobots might be like, served as an adequate distraction from the dream that had awakened her.

It did not take long after she finished off the last of the warm milk before she felt the desired effect as her eyelids drooped. She return to the her bed and set the empty mug on the table next to the clock that now read 4:38 am. Peeling out of the sweats, she crawled back under the covers and turned out the light. She should be able to get at least another hour or two of sleep before it was time to get up and report for duty. Today would be a new day. Today she could start over and make a better impression on the members of her new unit.

XX—XX

Ratchet looked up from pad he was reading as he heard the med bay doors open from his office at the rear of the med bay. He set it aside and got up to see just who had entered, and what the slagger had done to themselves this early in the day, but, once he walked into the bay proper, he saw no other mechs present.

A whistle caught his attention and he looked down toward where the sound had come from.

"Rachel," he acknowledged, a bit of his surprise filtering into his voice. "I had not expected to see you this early in the morning," he added, kneeling down as he had the previous day.

"I'm suppose to report to you for duty assignments, am I not?" she inquired.

"Well, yes..."

"Here I am," she interrupted cheerfully, before he could add the 'but' that he had been thinking. "Put me to work."

She stood there, expectantly, waiting for him to give her an assignment. Truthfully, he had expected her to be late in reporting today, given what happened yesterday, and considered telling her to take the day to rest. He could tell that her cheerfulness was somewhat forced and being put on for the benefit of others. She could not completely hide the underlying tension in her voice.

She spoke again, most of her cheerfulness gone, "Ratchet, please, just give me something to do," she entreated. "Anything. Cleaning, sorting supplies, even inventory, just…I need to be doing something."

Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, and he did. She needed a distraction. Now was not the time to try and confront the demons that plagued her. The memories were again too fresh. Perhaps he could take this as an opportunity to get to know her better and begin building her trust.

"I was just going over the manifest of medical supplies we received yesterday along with additional construction materials," he said, rising. "I could use your assistance in sorting through them."

Nodding she followed him to a door, which he opened for her, glad that he did not bring up the issue of her panic attack the day before. The door lead to a large storage room lined with racks. Parked in the middle of the floor was a flatbed semi trailer, a load of various sized pallets decorating it's surface. Beyond the trailer, she could see another large door. Using the mental map of the base she was building in her head, she assumed that the door lead into the assembly area at the front of the hanger, which made sense. That way, supplies didn't need to be hauled through the med bay to get to the storage room.

"I believe there is a printed copy of the manifest with the trailer. I will retrieve the data pad with a copy of the requisition from my office and be right back."

Ratchet left her to retrieve his pad and Rachel made her way over to the trailer. She found that the straps that had tied the load down had already been removed and the tarps that had covered it neatly folded. A small, metal box was bolted to the side of the trailer near the back. Opening it, she found a clipboard inside with the manifest. She removed it and began to read through the list. Nuts, bolts, sheets of different kinds of metals ranging from stainless steels of various thickness, to more exotic materials like titanium, hastelloy and inconel. The last two alloys she had never heard of. Medical supplies, huh. Well, she supposed, for the 'Bots, they would be.

She looked up as Ratchet re-entered the room.

"Shall we see if what we received matches with what was requested?" he asked as he made his way over to the trailer. He set down the same kind of oversized tablet-style computer Optimus had used yesterday on a nearby table.

"That would be miracle. I don't think I've ever seen a supply shipment come in from the military that was exactly what was requested," Rachel commented.

She set the clipboard on the bed of the trailer and used the small ladder welded it's side to climb up. Retrieving the manifest, she made her way over to the stack of pallets at the back and looked at the tag on the top-most pallet.

"This is sheets of stainless steel," she told Ratchet, pulling a pen out of a pocket to check it off on the manifest list.

Ratchet cut the metal straps holding the material on the wooden pallet and Rachel pulled off the cardboard cover. She watched as Ratchet picked up one corner of what had to be about twenty, four-foot by eight-foot sheets of metal and shuffle through them as if they were sheets of paper.

"The alloy is not ideal, but these will work as temporary plates until more permanent replacements can be constructed," was his comment before he picked up the entire stack and moved them to a rack, adding them to what was already there. Rachel was rather stunned by this display of strength, and stared at his back for a moment. She shook her head and told herself that it really shouldn't surprise her, then moved on to read the label of the next pallet in the stack while Ratchet check off the stainless sheets against the requisition list.

That first pallet was the beginning of a system that was repeated for the all of the sheets, solids, bars and tubes of metal that were on the trailer. Occasionally Ratchet would reject some of the material, and it would be set aside. Later, it would be placed back on the trailer to be returned.

A similar process ensued for the many boxes of bolts that were also part of the shipment. Ratchet rejected about half of these as too weak. The standard tensile strength of the bolts was just not sufficient, in most cases, for the stress loads the fasteners were going to be subjected to in the bots bodies.

The two of them worked companionably. Rachel would read off the labels, and slit open boxes with a blade on the small, Leatherman multi-tool she was never without; Ratchet would scan the materials and either set them aside in the pile of rejects, or move them to racks or bins on the storage shelves. Rachel was sure to mark on the manifest what materials were accepted and what was rejected, and made careful notes as to why items were rejected.

While they worked, Ratchet began to ask Rachel about her training, duties and experience as a paramedic, both in the Guard, and with Tulare County. It was sort of a mini interview, she decided. Her medical training was not the main reason for her being at the base, but it was why she was assigned to work with him.

She gave him a rundown of her training history, starting even before graduating from high school. She had joined the Guard shortly after graduating to help pay for her education. She also detailed her normal duties at the fire station. Duties that included helping to keep all station medics and EMTs up to date in their ongoing training, urban and wilderness search and rescue, and the normal, everyday treatment and transportation of patients. In the Guard, her duties were similar, but included working as a medical assistant in a hospital as well as transporting patients suffering from battlefield or disaster traumas.

Ratchet also asked about her co-workers. He had been something of a silent observer for a couple of days, and was curious, so she described them. Frank, her partner, the older, bachelor EMT who was the mother hen of the station; Reggie, the newbie, so eager to please; the other six firefighter/EMT's; Captain Bratton, the 40 year veteran who had been at Station 12 since it was built. She also described the other three paramedics at the station; Brian, the senior paramedic on staff, Lilly, the only other female at the station, and Marcus, the paramedic transferred in to replace her while she was deployed. He had not been pleased to see her return, and their working relationship could only be described as strained. He had hoped to be promoted to assistant senior paramedic when Jonathan had retired in December. Then, she had returned, and was given the open slot.

"And Paul?" Ratchet asked, curious to know just exactly what her relationship was to the man who had been ready to listen to her problems.

Rachel smiled. "My 'big brother.'" She decided she needed to elaborate for the alien medic and continued as she opened another set of boxes. "We are not actually related. When I was assigned to Station 12 five years ago, Paul sort of adopted me. I didn't really know anyone in the area, and my parents had died a few months before. Paul found out I had no other family and decided to elect himself as my older sibling, my 'big brother.' He introduced me around, included me in some of his families' gatherings, and generally got me settled in at the station."

Ratchet understood now. Paul was something similar to a guardian for Rachel. Much like Prowl was to Bluestreak, or Ironhide for Bumblebee; where the older takes in the displaced younger and provides mentoring, protection and stable emotional support. The relationship was more informal in the human's case, but still similar. He was comforted by this revelation, but was also slightly apprehensive at the same time. He wondered, if they ever met, what Paul might think of him.

After they finished with the boxes of bolts, three, 50 gal drums of lubricant were next on the trailer. Ratchet grumbled about the minute quantity of the highly refined synthetic oil; the only suitable Earth equivalent for them to use. It was less than one quarter of what he requested.

"Well, look at it this way," Rachel pointed out, "at least they sent you some. If it's as highly refined as you say, it's probably not readily available."

This comment seemed to mollify him to some degree, but he still grumbled. Like any good doctor, he wanted the best for his patients, and he wanted it _**now**_.

There was one last pallet of boxes on the trailer by this point. Rachel sliced away the plastic wrap binding them together while Ratchet moved the drums. As she tore off the last of the wrapping, she could finally read the markings on the boxes. These supplies were for the human inhabitants of the base.

The first several boxes were labeled with the a company logo Rachel was quite familiar with; HemCon. They were the main supplier of hemostatic dressings (bandages with clotting agents) to the US military. The next layer of boxes contained the more traditional types of pressure dressings and bandages. There was also a good assortment of the types of bandages the average layperson would recognize for minor wounds.

Additional boxes had instant ice packs and two contained burn gel packs. There was even a complete trauma kit much like the one she had brought with her to the base. Hers had a few extra items she had added that she often found useful. There were two folding field stretchers too. A couple of specially insulated boxes contained bags of saline solution and a few more boxes contained miscellaneous items such as syringes, IV kits, and suture kits.

But if Ratchet had been irritated with the quantity of oil he had received, he was positively incensed at the quantity and assortment of human medical supplies.

"How does your military expect me to be able to care for the humans here at the base if they don't send me the proper supplies?" he ranted as Rachel help him sort the supplies into the storage racks and temperature-controlled cabinets he had prepared for them. "I have no blood products, a very limited supply of common antibiotic and sedative drugs, and few pain medications. I have my own modified surgical equipment and my scanners are better than yours, but I would like some of your standard patient monitoring equipment. Primus, I did not even have a proper medical berth for you yesterday and had to make due with a folding cot!"

Rachel could tell that this truly bothered him and thought she might understand why. He was use to taking care of every aspect of his own peoples health needs, from routine preventative care up to, and including, battlefield injuries. As CMO of this base, he more than likely felt that his duties now included the complete care of the humans stationed there, as well, so she sought clarification.

"These supplies are some of what is usually supplied to field medic units," she gestured to the of boxes stacked beside her, "but what you are saying is you want what a hospital would have on hand."

"This _**is**_ a hospital!"

Rachel cringed slightly at his outburst. Ratchet noticed and fought his temper back under control.

"I'm sorry Rachel," he apologized, "I'm just frustrated. I've been requesting these supplies for several months now and have yet to receive them."

"It's OK Ratchet. I understand. The military officials you've been dealing with probably just figured that you would just want to stabilized the injured and transfer them to our own hospitals and not treat them yourself."

"I am perfectly capable of treating most illnesses or injuries. I have been a medic for thousands of vorns. There is not much I have not seen."

"I'm sure you are," Rachel commented. She was prepared to believe his claim after observing him as he examined her yesterday and from the astute questions he had asked about her training earlier. A thought occurred to her about why there may be the misunderstanding. "I think the problem may partially be one of semantics. Medic, or paramedic, is a term we use for a first responder, someone who first treats a patient on scene but can only do a limited amount. That is what I am. Our main purpose is to stabilize and get a patient transported to a facility where someone with greater abilities and more equipment can properly treat the patient's condition. I think a better term for your function in our system of healthcare would be 'physician' or 'surgeon.'"

"Whereas in our system, a medic is all of those things." He let a gusty sigh escape his vents. "Perhaps you are right," he said.

This was something Rachel could help with. "Well, you're in luck. I may be a paramedic instead of a nurse, but I've got plenty of experience requisitioning supplies and stocking a full field hospital. I know what is needed and who to contact to get it. Give me your list and I'll get to work on it."

XX—XX

When Rachel tiredly prepared for bed that night, she was very satisfied with how the day had gone. In her eyes at least, she had redeemed herself and proven that she could be an asset to the unit. It had taken most of the of the day, but she had fought her way though the government red tape and managed a good start on the list of equipment and supplies Ratchet wanted. The most critical would be arriving in a few days.

After finishing with the supply shipment, she and Ratchet had spent most of the rest of the morning going over lists of supplies; what he had and what he wanted. At the top of the list had been patient monitors, beds, and blood supplies followed closely by a list of drugs, nearly a full pharmacies worth. She had successfully argued against the need for some of the more esoteric drugs on his list and add some of the more mundane that he had not thought to include. She had overheard Maggie complaining about her allergies acting up.

She also suggested a list of injuries that Ratchet should probably leave to human specialist. Injuries such as head trauma, spinal injury and amputation would require long recovery times and specialized therapy. Even field hospitals sent those cases on to other facilities. He agreed that it would be in the patients best interest, in those cases, that he only stabilize their condition and then let a human doctor take over their care at a facility better equipped to treat them.

Major Lennox had later provided her with the information and the contacts she needed to order the supplies. The order routing was a bit more circuitous than she was use to, especially since this unit technically didn't exist. The poor supply clerk, in medical procurement, whom she finally was put in contact with was so relieved to be speaking with someone who actually knew what they were talking about she could have almost ordered anything. Almost. There were still limits placed on how much she could order for the size of the unit. However, if Major Lennox granted her some latitude, she had ways of getting around that without compromising the unit's security.

The look on Ratchet's face that evening when she had given him back the small, human-sized pad with the list of confirmed supplies had been worth all the headaches and hard work. It was not everything he wanted, just what she could get confirmed on a Friday afternoon, but it was a good start. Rachel crawled into bed that night exhausted and content, and, for once, didn't dream.


	9. Signs and Portents Part 1

AN: Hey everyone. I'm back.

I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to post an update. Between some things I had to take care of in the real world (they're resolved now), the economy, and a major case of writers block for this section of the story (crossing fingers that its gone), time flew by.

Thanks to all of you that have continued to check back to see if I updated and to those who have recently found the story and left reviews. You guys kept me pluggin' away.

Many, many thanks to Litahatchee for agreeing to continue to be my beta. You're the greatest.

As I stated in chapter eight's AN, I will eventually use the term 'carrying' in my story (foreshadowing of future medical scenes). 'Carrying' is a term and concept originated by Lita from her story 'Night Fire', it belongs to her. If you want to use it, ask her first.

I would also hope that anyone wanting to use ideas I originate to ask me first. The next few chapters will have some concepts that I have worked hard on ever since I started this story.

Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers, do own Rachel.

Now, on to the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

(Oh, and if you think you recognized the chapter title, I borrowed it from Babylon 5.)

* * *

Chapter 9: Signs and Portents-Part 1

Ratchet surveyed his domain from the door and was truly astounded. In under two weeks, the portion of his med bay intended for humans was transformed into the proper trauma facility he wanted. Medical berths stood ready, the pharmacy and blood bank were stocked, and all critical equipment was in place. Not only was the med bay ready to receive human patients, but the process of requisitioning supplies for his own people had been streamlined and refined to the point that he'd rejected very little of what arrived in the last load.

How had he gotten along before without Rachel?

She navigated the bureaucratic system of the military supply chain with ease. She even knew how to get around certain obstacles by engaging in backdoor bartering with other units; all with his permission, of course. That's how he now had six of the human medical berths, with all the accompanying patient monitoring equipment, instead of just four.

Rachel had worked a trade with another unit for the additional equipment in exchange for an autoclave she had obtained, but Ratchet didn't need. He had other, more efficient means of sterilizing medical instruments.

Rachel was seated at the human-sized table he had helped her set up, on top of a bench on the wall closest to the med bay entrance, almost like a reception desk. A spiral staircase graced one leg of the bench, just as similar ones did on most of the berths and work tables in the med bay, allowing her to go almost anywhere.

She acknowledged his return with a wave, but returned to her phone conversation. From the portion of the conversation he had overheard, she was in the final stages of the process of setting up a system of regular rotation for the perishable supplies, now that they had the first shipments. Most drugs, and all human blood products, had a very limited shelf life.

The system she was implementing would insure a regular, fresh supply.

As he walked over to his work bench and put down the pad with the meeting notes, he realized just how much he had missed having an aide in the bay. He had been its sole occupant for all the many vorns of the long search for the Allspark. Yes, Optimus and the others had been there on the Ark with him, but he had been alone in the med bay. Even when Prowl's team arrived with Wheeljack, who had served as their team medic, he had still been alone in the bay. 'Jack was more engineer than medic, and was currently needed in his primary capacity.

Now, Rachel was in the bay with him, and he found her presence to be…soothing.

She was fast proving herself to be a great assistant, too. In addition to taking over supply requisitions, she'd also acquired for him the complete medical records of all the military personnel on base. Getting the records for the civilians had proven to be a more delicate matter, but with some persuasion on Rachel's part, she had managed to get Maggie to sign the paperwork for obtaining her records, and forms were ready to send home with Mikaela and Sam the next time they came to the base. After a long phone conversation, the forms had been emailed to Glen, too.

With Rachel as his assistant, maybe now he could finally get around the leeriness some of the humans had about trusting him with their care. Maggie and a couple of the Rangers had already come to her with a few, minor, sinus-related, complaints. Rachel kept him informed and told him to be patient. They would eventually come around.

Ratchet had also rediscovered the joy of teaching since Rachel came to the base. The two of them had quickly established a routine each day, after she had first asked to be taught at least basic first aid for the bots. Each day, he spent several hours teaching her Cybertronian medicine.

At first, the lessons had been strictly emergency field repairs. She had absorbed the basic information quickly, but as he'd started getting more technical with some aspects of their mechanical anatomy, she started to have trouble following his lessons; complaining, mischievously, that she was a medic, not an engineer. Her demeanor at the time suggested she was making a joke, but, unfortunately, it was lost on him. She had eventually clued him in to the reference to an old science fiction-based TV show and the crotchety doctor character who often uttered the line 'I'm a doctor, not a (insert alternate profession).' Then, she had suggested an alternative teaching method, and he'd discovered her hobby of comparative physiology.

Apparently, several years ago, Rachel had decided to learn canine physiology so she could better treat search dogs that were injured in rescue operations. In order to do so, she'd created a program of self study wherein she compared canine physiology to the human physiology she was familiar with. She'd even shown him a program on her laptop she'd used as a study tool that built a 3D graphic model of a canine from the inside out. Rachel had found her study to be so fascinating that she'd continued it with a few more animals.

Ratchet was now using a similar method to teach her Cybertronian physiology, by having her design a computer simulation of an adult protoform. So far, she had the basic structural frame and many of the motor function elements in place, and earlier today they had started on the coolant and energon networks that acted much like human circulatory systems. Teaching her in this way forced him to relate things back to human equivalents. It was something that was not always possible, but still enlightening. He found himself learning nearly as much as she was.

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and her questions always insightful. He truly enjoyed those hours they shared each day, and he believed she did as well.

Ratchet covertly watched Rachel as he picked up the energon pump that he had been cleaning and repairing before the meeting, one recovered from a Decepticon deactivated at Mission City. A few last adjustments, and a bath in a neutral nanite solution, and it would be ready in the event that a bot needed a replacement. The neutral nanites would replace the bot specific nanites in the pump and ensure that it would be completely compatible and free of contamination. There was a second pump, a slightly larger one, waiting for the same treatment. Perhaps he would leave it for Rachel to work on. It would be good practice for her.

Rachel was more relaxed around him now that she had lost her initial wariness. Having a project and her studies to concentrate on had also helped curb the anxiety that had flared to life after her panic attack. But the work was a distraction, not a cure. She needed to confront the source of the anxiety, talk about it, not keep avoiding it. So far his subtle attempts to get her to talk about the events that were the source of her stress had not proven fruitful. She didn't seem to be speaking with anyone else either.

It was not that she shunned interacting with others, bots or humans, but she did not actively seek to interact socially with anyone either. It was always others that initiated the conversation or activity, like Maggie seeking her out for tea and conversation during her breaks, or Hound asking questions about the local wildlife.

Up to this point Ratchet had made sure that he was available to her and had worked at gaining her trust, but had not actively tried to get her to discuss the attack, allowing her time to adjust and perhaps bring the topic up herself. But, that time was over now. It was time for a change in approach.

Rachel finished her conversation and closed the flip cover on her cell phone, then turned to him with a satisfied grin.

"There, that finishes it. You'll now receive a regular resupply of blood products and pharmaceuticals every four weeks," she informed him. "If additional supplies are needed or you need something that's not on the regular supply list, there will have to be a special request at least a week ahead for it to come with a regular shipment. If it's something needed immediately, the necessary authorizations are in place to request an urgent airlift of supplies from Nellis."

Ratchet put down the energon pump. "Rachel, you are amazing. You have accomplished in two weeks, what I've been trying to do for months."

"It's nothing," she down-played his praise. "You just needed a little help from someone who knew how to navigate through the medical corps bureaucracy. I'll closely monitor things for the next couple of months and make sure nothing goes wrong and no one tries anything funny, but you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"Still, I am very grateful for all the work you have put into making this a functioning med bay," Ratchet said as he made his way over to her desk. "And you have done far more than just procure the supplies and equipment I was in need of to treat your people," he added as he came to stand by her.

"It's my job to make yours easier," was her reply.

"And such a fine assistant I have not had in a very long time," he praised her. "Now if everyone else would just listen to me and make my life easier," came the now familiar grumble from the CMO.

Rachel grinned up at him. "Are the twins up to no good again?" she asked.

At the end of last week, while Ironhide recharged, somehow, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had managed to replace the ordinance in both of his cannons; one with canisters of confetti and the other with cans of silly string. How they had gotten hold of the stuff, no one knew, and they were not saying. Weapons practice the next day had resulted in an enraged black mech and a good deal of work for herself and Ratchet.

As she had heard it at dinner that evening, Ironhide had been bragging, again, to the assembled Rangers about the superiority of Cybertronian weapons and had prepared to demonstrate on some new, armored targets. Instead of a barrage of plasma rounds, the air had been filled with multicolored squares of foiled paper.

Ironhide had been speechless, probably with incredulity and growing rage. Epps' comment about how if he'd known 'Hide was going to be throwing a party, he would have brought some beer, as the rest of the Rangers snickered in the still falling confetti, had not helped the big mech's ire. The giggling of the twins, who had been hiding behind some rocks nearby, had been the last straw.

Ironhide had rounded on the pranksters with a roar, bringing his other cannon to bear. Tyler had said the twins just grabbed each other in a play of fright, instead of diving for cover. (Sunstreaker had made sure they were way outside the possible range of the silly string cannon.)

But, instead of the cans releasing a barrage of pink, green and blue strings from the left arm cannon, they had exploded inside, and the sticky substance had expanded through whatever openings it could find, coating Ironhide's entire arm and dripping down onto the ground. The Rangers had all collapsed in laughter, as had the twins. Their laughter was short-lived as Ironhide had charged the twins, intent on bodily harm.

The pranksters had quickly retreated, transforming and racing into the desert, still laughing. They had quickly outpaced the more cumbersome mech, who, unable to transform with his arm clogged with congealing, multicolored sticky foam, could not pursue them on four wheels.

Ironhide had later been dragged into the med bay by Optimus, still angry and cursing up a storm. Ratchet had been just as angry with the twins. Not that she blamed him. The prank could have resulted in some serious damage to Ironhide's systems.

The net result had been that Rachel had quite an education in alien curse words that day, although the meaning of some undoubtedly got lost in translation. Others, she could guess at. She had noted, though, that even infuriated, Ironhide had stuck to English when she would have expected him to revert to his native language. Her calm demeanor as she worked on Ironhide's arm seamed to affect both mechs, as their stream of curses had trailed off and then stopped. Her training as a medic was to treat the patient first, fume later. But, they may have continued over their internal comm. system, for all she knew.

That day had actually been the first time that Ratchet had let her help with a patient instead of just observing. Her smaller size had proven an advantage as she was able to reach into places and remove confetti or foamy strings without Ratchet needing to disassemble the arm entirely. The left cannon did have to come off for an overnight soak in cleaning solvent and a complete recalibration, but that was the worst of it.

"Not yet," Ratchet said, back in the present, answering her question. "Prowl is still keeping them busy with extended, and separate, patrols, and Ironhide has them running drills when they are not patrolling or recharging. Both are still petitioning Optimus for the construction of a brig."

Rachel chuckled. She could well imagine that the big black mech was still quite pissed

with the pranksters, and Prowl, the stickler for rules that he was, just plain annoyed.

"So, how was the meeting?" Rachel asked.

"Interesting. The sky spies have picked up some unusual energy readings. Wheeljack is working on some software upgrades to refine what the scanners are detecting."

Those energy readings had been very interesting, because they appeared to resemble the signature of the Allspark; but puzzling in that they were appearing randomly all over the globe.

"Also, we'll have some work soon," he added. "Hound will have the first three holo-system upgrades ready in the next few days."

Rachel nodded. Hound had been in and out of the med bay working with Ratchet on the project over the last week or so. He would chat with her when he came in, if Ratchet was busy, often asking about the animals or geology he had seen while on patrol.

Hound already had the upgraded holographic systems, or more accurately, a system that combined both light-constructs and force-field matrices, giving the projection some solidity and the mech using it the ability to actually touch and pick up objects with the projection. It allowed him to create a human-like avatar that could withstand closer scrutiny than the basic holograms the other Autobots could produce. Those were only good at a distance and nothing but light projections.

What Rachel didn't know was that it was Ratchet who was one of three to push for the upgrades to be a priority, shortly after she arrived. The other two being Wheeljack, so he could tinker with some human-sized equipment more easily, something Ratchet felt a little uneasy about, and Jazz, because he wanted to 'mingle' with the humans.

The new holograms would still have their limitations. The sensory feedback from the projection, mostly in the form of pressure against the force fields, would be a pale echo of what they had in their true forms. The holograms would also have a rather limited range, and would be a huge energy hog. Most mechs would only be able to use the avatar while in vehicle mode and only for a limited time, a time that would vary with how much reserves each had.

Hound had extra reserve cells dedicated just to his holo-mapping systems, but others didn't. Hound was also working with each bot to program the parameters for the individual holograms. The individual bots would be able to control the basics, like clothing colors and styles, but the more difficult parameters of facial expressions and such; those, Hound had the expertise in programming.

"Do you need anything brought in for the procedures?" Rachel asked.

"No, I've got everything here," Ratchet replied. There was a pause before Ratchet continued in a more subdued manner. "Rachel," he began, then stopped. He saw her tense up, and look away from him.

"There have been sightings of the Decepticons," was her astute observation, guessing the last topic of the meeting.

"Not directly, but there is evidence of activity to the north, near San Francisco. Ironhide and the Twins are being dispatched to investigate with the Rangers."

She took in a deep breath, then let it out again before replying, "And you need what's in my head," she stated. She turned to smile weakly up at him. "You and the others have been very patient with me, and I appreciate that."

Ratchet smiled back in return, amazed by the femme's resiliency. Humans were very adaptive creatures. "You needed time to adjust to your new reality."

"New reality?" she asked.

"That aliens really do exist."

He saw some of the tension seep out of her, and what he was learning to recognize as a glint of humor came to her eyes.

"Perhaps, but you don't really seem all that alien." She had noticed that the Autobot's ability to blend in extended beyond their ability to transform.

"Ah, so, our plans to take over the world are working then," Ratchet replied in jest, pleased that he had been able to relax her to some degree.

Rachel chuckled, "Must be." She sobered again fairly quickly. She took a deep breath while looking away from him again. "I guess it's time to learn a new language." The task seemed a bit daunting to her, along with being uncomfortable. What little she remembered seemed incomprehensible. "Or at least enough to figure out what was said." She sighed again. "This may take a while."

"Indeed. Also, you most likely did not hear the entire conversation, since parts of our language fall outside your auditory range." He paused slightly before continuing with a proposal, "There may be a way around both problems."

Rachel looked up at him expectantly.

Ratchet continued, "There may be a way to view your memory of the event directly."

"You have a way to read my mind?"

He could hear the revulsion to the concept in her voice. Humans were isolated creatures, and he couldn't help but think of them as lonely also, unable to communicate directly with the processor of another. Or, at least he did not think any of them could. There were internet sites where some claimed the ability to 'hear' another's thoughts, or project their thoughts to others, without a hard line connection even, but there was little to no proof offered to back up those claims.

"More like a possible way for you to show me the memories you want to."

Ratchet watched her facial expressions as she looked away and contemplated the idea.

"I guess, … it would be faster," she accepted, but clearly not comfortable with the idea yet.

"Think about it. Wheeljack and I don't have the device quite complete yet, but I will need to run some scans soon to begin calibrations."

He placed a finger on her shoulder to get her attention again, "I also want you to start a course of counseling therapy. You need to start talking through what happened Rachel."

"I know," she said softly, looking away again.

She knew the signs of PTSD, recognized them in herself and knew she needed someone to help her work through the trauma of the attack. Recognizing it was one thing, though. Actually talking about it was something completely different.

"It doesn't have to be with me; you can choose whom you wish to speak with," Ratchet continued. "Both Prowl and Jazz have some psychological training and experience. Or perhaps you would prefer one of your own people; one of the Rangers or Maggie?"

"No, not Maggie," Rachel quickly countered. "She's a civilian. She wouldn't understand, and not any of the Rangers either."

She got along with them OK, but there were two problems: one, she was female, and two, she was a Guardsmen. There was still some tensions between regular Army types and those they tended to view as part-timers, no matter how much action the Guard had seen in recent years; and if any of them saw her break down again, they would only see her as a weak female, not as a fellow soldier. She had seen that, first hand, back when she had been at Walter Reed Army hospital. Female veterans just did not get the same respect as their male counterparts.

She looked back up to Ratchet. "You really are the best choice. You're a medic. You will understand."

Ratchet nodded. He was pleased with her choice, but also knew that this wasn't going to be easy for her.

XX--XX

Rachel stood outside the hanger in the warm late morning sun and thought about what she should do with her time off. After she had agreed to twice-a-week therapy sessions with Ratchet, he had ceremoniously kicked her out of the med bay, telling her that he didn't want to see her back in the bay until the next day.

She had protested, claiming she needed to complete a report on the completion of the med bay, but he had overruled her, saying it was something that could wait. It wasn't even 11 o'clock yet, so she had most of the day to herself.

The bots were all busy with some activity, Maggie was off with Jazz again, and the Rangers had all left with Ironhide and the Twins. She had a good deal of thinking to do, but she was not a person to sit still to think. She preferred to be moving.

Deciding on a hike, she called into Control to let the bots know what she intended, then made for her quarters to change and get some supplies. It had been a while since she had had time to practice too, with all that had happened in the last few weeks, and practicing always seemed to help calm her down.

XX--XX

There was a rush of excitement from those in the monitor room a few hours later, as one of the elusive Allspark-like signals was detected very close to the base. It was strong, but so fleeting that it was impossible to get an exact fix on it. About an hour later, it appeared again, somewhere in the hills behind the base, and Hound, Wheeljack, and Jazz (who had returned with Maggie) had gone out looking for the source.

They found nothing. Hound came across Rachel during his search, on her way back from her hike, but she had not noticed anything unusual while out. None of them had really expected a human to be able to notice an energy flare anyway.

XX--XX

On the other side of the country, in Norfolk, Virgina, a naval transport vessel had docked, just returning from the middle east. On board, there were dozens of military vehicles being returned to their stateside units. Among the last to be unloaded was a group of vehicles destined for a guard unit in California. These were moved to a staging area in preparation for loading onto rail cars.

The driver of a somewhat scorched-looking M1126 Stryker Carrier hastily exited the vehicle after placing it in the line. Looking back over his shoulder, he made signs to ward off evil, took note of the ID number paint on its prow (a different one that had been there originally) and vowed never to approach this particular Stryker again. He swore it was possessed by the devil himself.

Once the man was out of sight, the vehicle seemed to shudder on its six wheels, then settled, returning to being an ordinary, if somewhat battered, military vehicle.


	10. Signs and Portents Part 2

First off, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I know I've not updated in a really long time. 2010 turned out to be a pretty crappy year for me. 2011 is not starting off great either. I've had to deal with some medical issues. I had hoped to finish this chapter by now and have it posted before my surgery on Monday, but that's not going to happen. So here is an unbeta-ed teaser of chapter 10.

This is a teaser only. I'll repost the finished chapter later, hopefully in a couple weeks.

My thanks to Lament of Meow for help with getting this chapter restarted.

* * *

Chapter 10: Signs and Portents-Part 2 (Teaser)

Rachel came into the medbay the next morning with a travel mug full of strong tea. She needed the caffeine this morning. Her rest had been fitful. Having a day off had broken the routine she had established while completing the human portion of the medbay and beginning to learn the physiology of their new allies. During these last couple of weeks she had basically gone to bed every day exhausted both mentally and physically. Doing so had ensured that dreams didn't wake her. She didn't remember any specific dreams last night, but she had awakened several times. She just hoped Ratchet didn't notice her less than rested state.

However, the medic didn't seem to be in residence this morning. Once she climb the spiral staircase and reached her desk, she found a data pad with a flashing message light waiting for her.

She pressed the appropriate icon and a message appeared.

_Rachel, I am sorry I will not be available for our normal lesson this morning. I will be with Wheeljack and Hound in the lab working on the finishing the three new sky spy satellites. With the new detection of Decepticon activity, Optimus is anxious to get them completed. The Air Force is delaying the launch of a rocket to accommodate them._

_I have programmed this pad with information continuing our lesson from yesterday. _

_Call me if you need me._

The note was signed with a glyph that Rachel had learned was Ratchet's name. There was also an attached file.

Rachel ignored the temping file for now. There were other things she needed to do first. She put down her personal data pad and picked up the compact over-ear communication device that look much like the normal ones used by the Rangers, but this one allowed her to tap into the 'bots internal comm. system. With it, she could call any of the 'bots, or they could contact her.

First she called in to Prowl and reported herself as on-duty, a few minutes early even. He acknowledged in his normal curt manner.

Next on her agenda was her normal survey of the supply carts at each of the medical berths. It was her task each morning to make sure each cart was fully stocked and any supplies used the previous day replaced. This usually took her half an hour, but she had no idea what supplies Ratchet may have used yesterday in her absence.

Normally, after that task was completed, Ratchet would answer any questions she had about the previous day's lesson in Cybertronian anatomy and go over anything she was not clear on. The virtual model she had begun to build on her pad helped a great deal. Ratchet was able to look at the model and correct any errors and point out possible variations. Then the new lesson would start, sometimes aided by whoever was the unlucky guinea pig of the day. But today, that would have to wait. She still had that report to write that Ratchet had not let her finish yesterday.

XXXXXX

Rachel had made good inroads on the report detailing completion and supply of the med bay when Jazz walked in.

"Hey, beautiful."

"Hi, Jazz," she replied looking up.

"What cha' workin' on?" asked the silver bot as he came over to her desk.

"Reports," she answered, laying down the stylus she had been writing with, and flexed her fingers several times to work out a cramp that was threatening to start. "Ratchet is helping Wheeljack. I can call him."

"Na, I just had some time before I headed out on patrol an' came in for a quick check-up. I can catch Ratch later."

Rachel had been allowed to observe Ratchet as he checked over Jazz earlier in the week as part of a lesson. Jazz had been the most severely injured of the Autobots in the battle of Mission City. He had quite literally been torn in half, and nearly died. Ratchet insisted that he come in for regular exams.

"I also wanted to see how you were doin'," he continued, moving closer and leaning against the bench her desk stood on as if at a bar. "Settlin' in OK?"

"I'm doing fine, Jazz." Rachel smiled at him.

"Good," he smiled back, "you just let the Jazz-man know if you need anythin'."

Rachel chuckled to herself. Of all the bots, Jazz certainly seemed to have adopted Earth culture the quickest. She remembered something she had been meaning to ask about. "Perhaps you can help me with a translation. How long is a vorn?"

"Well, let's see," Jazz did some internal calculations, "about 83 of your years, I think."

Wow, she had known that the Autobots probably were old, but had not really thought about how old. Ratchet had said that he had been a medic for thousands of vorns. Depending on how many thousand, that career could span hundreds of thousands to millions of Earth years.

Jazz had been watching her absorb the information and do some mental calculations of her own. "That help?"

"Yes, thank you Jazz. I'll let Ratchet know you stopped in."

"Maybe when I come back, you can perform my check-up," he suggested, "I hear you did a fine job working on Ironhide." His voice took on more sultry quality as he leaned a little closer, "I'll take a pretty femme performing my maintenance over the Hatchet any day." Grinning cheekily, the silver bot turned and sauntered toward the door. He turned back once more and flashed her a big smile while dimming half of his visor in what she interpreted as a wink before exiting.

After he left, Rachel shook her head and cleared what had to be a stunned expression off of her face as she went back to her report. Had Jazz actually been flirting with her? Sure, she expected it, eventually, from at least some of the male Rangers on the base. It was something a female medic just had to deal with in a mostly male military, but she had not been expecting it from an alien robot.

XXXXX

Optimus watched through the window of the med-bay doors, wondering if he should disturb the two within. Rachel sat at her desk with Ratchet behind her, both of them intent on the data pad before them. He assumed, correctly, that another lesson in Cybertronian physiology was underway.

He had noticed a subtle change in the medic he had known for so long since Rachel's arrival on base. The war had had an effect on them all, but he tending to think it had been hardest on Ratchet and the rest of the medics. Ratchet was known for his temper and general grumpiness as well as his skill, but since Rachel's arrival, his mood had improved and his temper was not quite as evident. It was a slight improvement, but an improvement nevertheless.

He hated to disturb the rapport that was building between the human and Autobot medics, but both he and Prowl agreed that Rachel was the best choice for the assignment, and it would only be for one day.

To be continued…


End file.
